


Working Out the Kinks

by NikoNotHere



Series: Becoming Whole Together [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, BDSM, Complicated Relationships, Dom/sub, Flogging, Fluff and Angst, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, M/M, Obedience, One Night Stands, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Roleplay, Secret Relationship, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Till's weekly "stress relief" culminates in more than he anticipated.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Becoming Whole Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604857
Comments: 162
Kudos: 163





	1. Beat the Stress Away

**Author's Note:**

> There will be mentionings of prior relationships in future chapters, thus the relationship tag

Tears sprang to his eyes as the individual strands of the flogger bit into his back. He flinched, but remained silent, gritting his teeth against the flashes of striking pain. A fleeting thought made him wonder if it were possible to crack your own teeth from clenching them too hard, but the sharp snap of the whip's ends across his aching muscles ripped the thought away. He squeezed his eyes shut, irritated that stray tears leaked from the sides of his eyelids. If the tears were noticed--

"Stop crying," a voice behind him growled, following the command with another strike, this one lower, across the backs of his thighs.

Till had to literally bite his tongue to keep from crying out. That one *hurt*. A small trail of blood made its way down the back of his left leg. It both tickled and itched in an infuriating combination of sensations

He was on all fours, his back a mottled, flushed red color, criss-crossed with welts and lines of blood spattered across it. His hands were cuffed together, but far enough apart to keep his balance as they splayed on the floor, bracing himself upright. His knees were bruised and incredibly sore from maintaining his position for over an hour, but he dared not make a single noise of complaint. His arms and legs trembled with exhaustion, but held their places, for now.

The flogging stopped for a moment, and the only sound that filled the dim room was Till's shaky breathing. His nose ran, but he ignored it, as he did the thin strand of saliva that leaked from his grimacing mouth.

"Enough?" the voice behind him asked, a mocking note lacing the words.

Till almost responded before stopping himself. He must really be exhausted, nearly forgetting his place of silence. He swallowed at the spit in his mouth instead of answering. His throat was raw and scratchy from panting, and he coughed roughly.

As soon as the sound of his own cough hit his ears, the strands of the flogger hit his calves. Till's body tensed up in response, his back arching a bit. He shook his head, angry at himself for the slip up of noise.

"Mhmm. You know better," the gravelly voice admonished, followed by another crack as the flogger struck over his bare ass.

Till wanted to ball his fists up and beat the ground, desperate for a different form of pain than the agonizing, frustrating sting of the whip. He couldn't close his fists without losing his balance; instead, he subtly curled up his fingers and scraped his fingernails back and forth against the concrete floor. He mentally sighed in relief as his brain switched its focus to the new burning feel of his fingers grinding onto the floor, scratching away skin and nail. Perhaps he wouldn't notice--

A boot stomped next to his hands, startling him. He did not look up, but immediately stopped dragging his fingers into the concrete. 

"Bored?"

Till very slowly shook his head, holding his breath and anticipating the next sting of the whip.

The man behind him made a "hmph" noise. His voice was scratchy and deep, a false tone to disguise the identity of the person it belonged to. Till didn't care who it was. 

Three weeks ago, he'd put an anonymous ad in a local paper, eager for the destressing that came along with simply being bound, beaten, humiliated and punished. It "worked out his kinks," as he said, deciding it to be a clever enough wordplay. He was going to be in this town for several weeks, and he wanted someone to "play" with. He'd received a fairly swift reply, with promises that neither would ever know the name of the other, and both would wear masks for the entirety of their sessions. Till could just as easily have gone unmasked, but it sounded like a fun new idea to try.

Each weekend since then, after informing someone--usually Richard, but whoever was nearby for security's sake-- that he'd be out having fun at a hotel for a few hours, Till would arrive at the rather seedy place. He checked into the same room each time and stripped his clothes, wearing only a blank white mask that covered his entire face. He laid out on the bed a few whips, cuffs, and paddles that he'd collected in his travels, along with an identical white mask. He left the door unlocked, and then proceeded to kneel beside the bed, his head bowed, to wait for the dominant.

The first time had been a bit awkward. The man had entered, and obedient to his word, Till had kept his gaze down until instructed to do otherwise. The dominant was of average height, rather average overall build, and seemed to have dark hair from what little Till had glimpsed from behind the mask. He always wore a pair of black leather gloves, black button down and plain dark trousers, but that was all Till made note of during their sessions.

The man, after donning the mask for the first time, had hesitantly approached him and tried to command him as he wished. It appeared as though his partner was somewhat new to the game: his flogging had been weak, and his tone had been seemingly concerned whenever he spoke during their session, though he spoke very little anyway. He was a bit timid, and unsure what to do at first. Till had been forced to guide him and instruct the man in the ways of punishment and masochism, as well as reassure a few times that he was indeed enjoying the pain thoroughly.

That said, all the teaching didn't bother Till. He still appreciated the beatings he received, and he firmly believed everyone deserved a chance to explore their interests, sexuality, and any kinks that went along with it. Plus, this person had followed the rules Till laid out to the letter, especially the continued anonymity. That was worth the patience needed as the man slowly but surely figured out how best to punish him each Sunday.

Though Till did not speak to the dominant after that first day, he sent various emails after the encounters, putting in deep detail what pain he'd liked, disliked, and wished to see in future meetups. The respondent was always very open to all suggestions and critiques, and had become quite good at his dominant, punishing role since then.

Now, he even seemed to be enjoying it. 

The whip suddenly popped against the floor beside him, causing Till to flinch. There was a snort from the dominant, then the sound of the flogger being tossed to the bed. Till released a very quiet exhale. 

Till was on the far side of the room where they'd discovered the carpet could be pulled up, revealing rough concrete beneath it. His knee ached, and if he weren't careful when he stood up or shifted his legs, he could tell his sore kneecap might dislodge. He moved to sit up carefully, but was interrupted.

"Stay. We're not done," the dominant said brusquely from the other side of the room.

This made Till curious. His punisher had never deviated from his normal rounds: around a half hour with a paddle, a few minutes with a cane, and half hour or so with the flogger. Occasionally his hands were cuffed, and at other times his ankles. They'd switched the order of the instruments sometimes, but never the length of time of their sessions, nor had they introduced anything new. Perhaps as it was their last time together, he was going to suprise him.

Till's neck prickled with anticipation as he heard some shuffling behind him. Had he gotten a new whip? Perhaps he wanted to experiment with more ropes, or latex, or--

A gloved hand on his back brought him immediately out of his musings. He felt the cool leather of a finger stroking along one of the welts from the whip. The hand moved to cup under his ass cheek, squeezing gently. 

"I want to try something new. If you don't want it, raise your hand." The mans voice was purposefully gravely, low, and nearly a whisper to disguise his true voice. It was the most he'd ever spoken to Till.

The gloved hand stayed on his backside while another moved to unlock his handcuffs. Till obediently looked away from his partner's masked face, though his mind was racing in both curiosity and apprehension. He'd never specified anything further than the punishments, nor had his "partner" mentioned anything new in their last emails.

More to the point, neither had brought up anything sexual. The most that had happened was a brief shake of their hands before the dominant left each time. Till needed no aftercare, as he preferred to dress his own wounds in private, and with the absence of the sexual aspect, it felt more like going out for a run or lifting weights. It was simply an exercise routine that cleared his mind and de-stressed him each week.

That said… As the man began massaging and kneading the muscles along his ass, Till felt his slight hesitation growing into something else entirely-- growing being the imperative word. He shuffled his legs apart slightly, accommodating himself as the cuffs were unlocked.

A quiet, breathy chuckle from the masked man made heat pool in Till's down-turned face.

"Good." 

Till's cuffs fell to the floor with a clatter.

*Leave it to my dick to be ready at a moment's notice,* Till thought somewhat abashedly, though he was pleased his reaction was what his partner was looking for.

His pulse ramped up as he felt the gloved hands roaming his skin gently. He caught a moan in his throat as the leather-clad hands wandered, slowly stroking along his hips almost reverently.

"Be quiet," the partner said gruffly when Till released a soft sigh.

Till nodded and hung his head, focusing on controlling his breathing. His arms still shook from the exertion of holding himself up for so long, but his exhaustion was speedily being replaced by lust. He felt his blood dump southward-- thickening, lengthening, and stiffening his dick. He spread his legs further, giving the man behind him both easy access and silent permission to do whatever he pleased. 

Till heard his dominant inhale sharply at the sight, his gentle gloved hand gripping a bit tighter on his backside. The man then slowly exhaled as his other hand strayed down, carefully dragging a finger down Till's crack, not pressing, but simply tracing downward.

Muscles twitched between his legs, in response to the touch that had reached the sensitive spot between his balls and his ass. A grunt from the man coupled with a few taps on his thighs let Till know he was to spread further. 

He obliged, splaying his legs wide and lowering his torso so that he rested on his forearms, giving his arm muscles a small break. His legs were as far wide as he could hold them with any stability. His muscles through his legs flexed, a combination of arousal and exhaustion. It was a heavenly feeling being spread, his everything on very open display for the other man.

The finger continued, agonizingly slowly, and Till felt the entire hand splay out a bit as it reached his scrotum. Gentle, well-practiced fingers suddenly wrapped around his sack and tugged, very nearly causing him to sputter out an expletive. A shudder traveled the length of his spine as the man massaged his balls in the one hand, while the other rubbed up his ribcage and around to his chest. The roaming hand found his nipple, suddenly pinching it hard, causing Till to jerk away from the grasp. The hold on his balls stayed firm, however, sending a jolt of pain up his body when he tried to flinch away. He yelped, and the hand that had pinched him suddenly slapped across his ass, very hard. 

"I said be quiet."

The voice was dark, much deeper than it had been before, and Till knew the tone so very well. The man was getting buried as deep in the pit of lust and desire as he was. This only served to arouse Till further, and he felt his hefty cock twitch underneath him as he nodded in response to his dominant.

The man must have felt the twitch, for he resumed his massaging with a stronger intensity that had Till shivering from the pleasure. After only a minute or so, the man released his hold on his balls and stroked his ass with both hands once more, appreciating their curves and gripping both with a pleased grunt.

Till flexed and moved his legs impatiently, trying to get a bit of movement against his dick. He'd never had to wait like this to satisfy himself, and the feeling of his cock hard and swinging free with no friction was maddening.

Another hard crack sounded as the man spanked a gloved hand across Till's ass again. Till bucked forward from the sting, his dick bumping up against his stomach. 

"Don't move. Understand?"

He gritted his teeth and nodded. Though he was frustrated, the frustration didn't turn to anger as it normally did in Till's day-to-day life. It smoldered into longing and lust, burning in his abdomen. The feeling was incredible.

Till heard the distinctive sound of a belt being unbuckled, and his heart shot into his throat. 

"Are you sure?" The man's voice held a twinge of uncertainty.

There was only the briefest moment of debate before Till nodded his head, quickly and emphatically.

The man behind him released a sigh that Till sensed was relieved.  
"Good."

There was a crude sound of the man spitting, and without pretext or hesitation, Till felt two gloved fingers press into him. There was a stab of pain, followed by a short burn, but the pain was minuscule compared to the pleasure. This form of sexual play was not foreign to Till, though he was far from well-experienced in it. He had to fight very hard to remain both still and quiet, as every fiber of his being wanted to push back into the slow working of the fingers, and gasp in pleasure at the feeling of them stretching him.

As the man pressed another finger to join the first two, he snaked his other hand around to hold Till's neglected cock. Till's hips bucked gratefully, fucking into the man's fist, slowly at first to test whether this movement was acceptable. 

The dominant seemed not to mind, or perhaps he was more focused on the fingers that were now deftly stroking against Till's prostate.

Till reeled and spasmed, his cries strangled in his throat as he attempted to remain quiet. He bit his lip until it bled, his body still humping into the man's hand with desperation. 

Just as he felt himself building to climax, both the hand gripping at his dick and the fingers inside him withdrew, leaving him feeling empty and hot all over.

"Look at me," the man commanded.

Till turned his head, his breathing heavy and panting. The taste of blood was in his mouth and he felt a small dribble of it run down his chin, but he paid it no mind as he saw what was behind him.

The man was staring at him through his blank mask, sitting back on his knees with his pants pulled down to his ankles. The man's thick, slightly curved dick was only barely contained in a pair of gray underwear that were darkened with a large spot of precum. The man palmed himself, gripping and rubbing as Till watched, breathless. 

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

Till's brain felt as if it were short circuiting, still high from the earlier pleasure added with the current filthy visual of the man masturbating over his underwear. He managed to nod mutely in agreement.

The man groaned as he threw his head back and tightly gripped the outline of his cock, holding it firmly for a moment before looking back down. He took a very deep breath, his chest flexing under his black button down.

"Good," he breathed. "Turn around."

Till did as he was told, holding his breath in aroused anticipation. He heard the soft sound of the man's underwear and pants being cast aside, and then suddenly felt the press of the man's heated tip against his ass. 

He felt as if his entire body throbbed at once at the sensation, a hot streak of pleasure that started from his feet and pulsed to his head. 

There was another gentle, almost worshipful caress of the man's gloved hand against his hip, and then he pressed inside.

A stifled whimper made it past Till's lips, but the man said nothing, if he even noticed at all. He was far too busy with the sensation of being enveloped by heat and muscle that flexed along his length as he slowly pushed to the hilt. He moaned as his hips fell flush with Till's backside, and simply stayed still for a few moments, relishing the feel. 

On his end, Till had never felt so full or stretched. The man was not overly lengthy, but his girth was substantial. He felt the man's cock throb inside him, making the muscle around his own dick contract and twitch with pleasure. The slight curve of the man's penis hit all the right spots as the dominant slowly pulled back out and reinserted, still moving carefully both to ease Till into it as well as savor the feelings.

The smooth motions were blissful, rocking Till into an aroused stupor. His dick bobbed with the man's movements in and out, which were becoming more and more forceful. The aggression was slowly returning. His fingers dug more tightly into Till's hips, and he began to put his weight into his thrusts, now moving his entire body to meet Till's, rather than just his hips.

Between the thrusts, the dominant's voice finally rose.  
"Moan. I-- fuck-- I want to hear you moan," the man stuttered, his disguised voice strained and heavy as he continued. The fucking began to morph into an animalistic rutting, instinct and lust taking over.

Till's mouth fell open obediently, finally releasing the guttural noises he'd been forcing back. He was loud, uncaring of how his groans echoed off the walls in time with the wet slaps of sweaty skin against skin. His ass burned deliciously as his bouncing cock leaked obscenely beneath him.

The man dug his gloved fingers even tighter into Till's hips, hauling him back to meet his own hips as he growled and slammed into him again and again. He increased his pace to a feverish one, the sharp staccato of his grunts a punctuation mark with each thrust.

Till's groans became cries, laced with pain from the rough fucking, but overwhelmed with pleasure. Each cry in turn became sharper with each continued push inside him. The man's fingers scratched against his many cuts from the whips and beatings as he reached up his back with one hand, smearing blood and adding fingerprint bruises to the collection of marks across his body. The pain intermingled with the pleasure until neither were recognizable alone, and were instead one great overwhelming feeling of bliss.

Till was fucking euphoric.

"Grab your cock and cum," his partner rasped out hoarsely, barely keeping himself from his own orgasm. He slowed his frantic rhythm just enough to stop from going over the edge as the hand on Till's back moved to grab one of his shoulders for leverage.

Till obeyed wordlessly and began to stroke himself, hard and fast; immediately his arousal soared. His cock was wet with the generous amount of precum he'd been leaking, giving slick ease to his rapid motions. Tension built up inside like a brewing geyser, heating his core and stiffening his body. His back arched, pressing his hips further back into his partner's grasp. 

His dominant could feel it too, in the flexing and constricting of the muscles clenched on his pumping cock. The man could hold on no longer, and with a strained groan, he hauled Till's ass flush with his body, pressing as far deep inside him as he could, leaning forward and releasing his hold on Till's shoulder to instead hold tight around his chest.

"Fuck, Lindemann!" he cried out, shuddering as he tried to pull the man even closer against his body, pushing deeper in short bursts of movement with the spurting of his dick.

The man saying his name startled Till, but the distraction lasted only the briefest of moments. A feeling of being flooded suddenly overwhelmed him, with wetness invading every sense. The combination of his frantic hand still working his cock, paired with the sound and sensation of the man filling him forced him to follow his dominant. He spasmed, and then with a series of choked cries, amply coated his hand, belly, and the floor beneath him with proof of his shuddering orgasm.

The two remained in their throbbing, heaving connection for several seconds, neither wanting to move for fear of losing such a perfect intertwining of themselves.

Till, focused on trying to stay upright, barely heard the man behind him release a shuddering breath before shuffling slightly backward on his knees and releasing his grips on Till's hip and chest. The man's softening cock slipped out, and the dominant hazily admired the cum that leaked from the reddened, well-fucked entrance. Till shivered as the man stroked a gloved finger along his hole, stickying it in the mess, then wiped it across an ass cheek. Till closed his eyes and grunted in a satisfied response, then slumped to the floor, his shaking arms finally giving way to exhaustion. His mask slid off as he flopped onto his back, eyes still closed. He didn't care. The man obviously knew who he was already. He was far too spent to care even if it did matter.

There was a moment where the only sound in the room was the quiet echoing of two heavy, recovering breaths. 

Till vaguely heard some shuffling next to him, but he was so very tired, and let his eyes stay closed. He needed to be careful not to simply drift off to sleep on the floor in his own mess.

Soft, warm lips were suddenly pressed to his. His eyes shot open in suprise, but all he saw was the white mask of his partner. The man had moved his mask slightly, exposing his lips in order to kiss him, but kept the mask on.

Till released a long breath through his nose and closed his eyes again, melting into the kiss. It was gentle and comforting, and soothed his racing heartbeat. Their heavy breathing mixed as the two kissed, too worn out to deepen it; but content instead to use it as a mutual thankfulness for the shared intimacy. 

The dominant pulled away, and moved his mask back over his lips quickly before Till could glimpse his face.

"Thank you," the man said gruffly, the harsh, fake accent thrown back over his words as he stood up.

Till nodded, accepting the hand his partner offered to help him up. He stumbled, his feet prickling with pins and needles from the hours of disuse, but the other man caught him and steadied him before stepping back. The man stared at him for a moment, white mask betraying no emotion or feeling whatsoever. 

"So, you know me," Till said finally. The urge came to uncomfortably shuffle his feet under the other man's scrutiny, but he remained still, an impassive look on his face. Why he should feel awkward in front of the pants-less man who'd just fucked him was beyond him, but he still felt it.

The masked man tilted his head slightly. "A deal is a deal. Don't worry; my mouth is sealed."

Till gazed at him, then nodded again, accepting the answer. "Thank you, for that, and for the pleasure these few weeks. If I am back again, I will write you, if you like."

The man in the mask simply shrugged and said, "We'll see."

He then turned, pulled his underwear and pants back on briskly, and left Till alone in the hotel room with his thoughts, which were already looking ahead to when he might return.


	2. Cleanup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till returns to his flat to get cleaned up for the day.

Till arrived back at the band's temporary flat. They were just finishing recording for next year's album and had made this their home base, of sorts. 

Till tossed his coat on the floor next to the door and kicked off his boots. He saw Richard sprawled on the couch in the living room, snoring away in an old tshirt and boxers. Till glanced at the clock on the living room wall and snorted. It was highly unusual for Richard to be up before well into the afternoon, and today was no exception. 

As Till passed the kitchen on the way to his bedroom, Flake called to him, "You've got blood on your shirt. Have a nice time?"

Till chuckled and walked back to the kitchen where Flake was cooking something delicious smelling on the stovetop. 

"I did, thank you. Is it that noticeable?" Till tried to look over his shoulder at his back, but couldn't see very well.

Flake looked him up and down, then turned back to the stove.

"You stink of sex," he said matter-of-factly. "Go wash before you make the food stink too."

Till smirked and grabbed Flake from behind in a bear hug, purposefully rubbing the side of his sweat-stickied face along the thinner man's shoulder.

Flake made a horrified noise and quickly squirmed out of Till's grasp. He glared daggers at him, making a big show of brushing himself off.

"You're disgusting, Lindemann," he accused, a ladle pointed in his still-grinning friend's direction. "Go clean off or I'm dumping your half of the soup out the window."

With another laugh to himself, Till left the kitchen.

"Let me know if you need help bandaging anything," Flake's voice, slightly less irritated, called out as he rounded the corner.

"Ja," Till hollered back, stopping by his shared room to grab a towel and some fresh clothes. Oli was busy fiddling with his acoustic guitar when Till entered, but smiled at him in acknowledgement. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, in a rather elegant posture for someone of his height. Till was always impressed by the man's ease of movement and fluidity, despite his size.

Oli had taken up residence in Till's room a week or so ago, switching with Flake because of Schneider's apparently very loud sleep talking. Flake slept like the dead, so was just as happy in the other room.

"Do we have any clean towels?" Till asked, rummaging around his dresser. 

Oli paused his tuning and pointed his chin at a pile of folded towels in the corner of the room. "Schneider did some laundry today."

"Danke."

He swept up a towel and piled it on the rest of his armful of clothes. Oli glanced over at Till's bloody shirt but said nothing about it, continuing his tuning quietly. He didn't care to pry into Till's personal life as much as Flake did, and knew if it were something important, he'd be told as much.

"Are we still meeting at the studio tonight?" Till asked as he dug for deodorant amidst a mess of various toiletries. He really needed to organize his things.

Oli shrugged and said, "Last I heard, yes, but Paul has been in and out of town today and hasn't replied when he'll be back."

Till nodded and shrugged in return. "I guess we'll see, then."

With that, he made his way back to the bathroom, passing a still-snoring Richard in the living room. 

Till playfully rolled up one of his socks and tossed it at the sleeping man's face, making him grunt in annoyance when it bounced off his forehead. Rather than getting up, he simply shifted his position to put his back to Till.

"Rehearsal tonight," Till yelled at him in an obnoxiously loud voice. "Make sure you're awake."

Richard wrapped his arms around a throw pillow and pulled it over his head, groaning in response and still not what Till would classify as "awake." 

He used to wonder why the man didn't just sleep in his and Paul's shared bedroom, away from the noise of the house. Richard had drunkenly confided to him one evening that his nightmares were much less frequent when he was sleeping surrounded by his friend's voices, even if it meant a slightly more interrupted slumber. While he respected the man's sleep for the most part, he was in an especially good mood today and enjoyed pestering his friends.

Till finally gave up on rousing the man when he received only a middle finger in response to his sock-pelting, and continued his trek to the shower, poking his head into Schneider and Flake's room. Schneider was either asleep on his bed or attempting to be, with his big studio headphones on, arms crossed behind his head and eyes closed: dead to the outside world. 

Till dumped his clothes on the bathroom counter and put the shower on full blast. Steam quickly filled the room as he stripped his clothes off. His shirt had begun to stick to the spots of dried blood on his back, making it a slightly painful endeavor to remove. He tossed it to the floor amongst his other dirty clothes and stepped into the shower.

There was a combination of heavenly warmth and stinging heat enveloping him; the small cuts along his back sending tiny shocks of pain as the hot water pelted them. He cleaned the cuts well, or at least the ones he could see and feel. Till took plenty of time to stretch his worn out muscles, massaging his biceps and quads that threatened to keep cramping on him. 

He scrubbed himself thoroughly, still amused at the potency of the "sex stink" Flake had immediately picked up on. He was quite happy things had turned out as well as they did today, and his mind wandered back to the pleasure of the earlier sex romp.

Before he realized, he was sporting a fair bit of a hard on at his pleasant thoughts. He looked down at himself, seriously debating whether to masturbate or not. He continued to be impressed with his active libido, even at his age.

Till eventually decided against getting himself off in the shower, turning his focus instead to gently cleaning and massaging his ass.

He was quite sore, and anticipated he would be for a day or so. His "friend" had been neither small nor particularly gentle. The ache was not an unpleasant one though, and instead served as a lovely reminder of his brief tryst. 

After washing his hair and the rest of his body to what he felt would be appropriate by even Flake's standards, he turned off the water. He shook his head, throwing water droplets free of his shaggy hair before stepping out and grabbing his towel and drying off. 

After dressing in a simple black tshirt and slacks, Till picked up his bloody shirt and examined the back of it, trying to decide whether it was worth salvaging. 

With a grunt, he decided it wasn't, and tossed it over at the waste bin. It hit the side, but slid off the side to the floor. Rolling his eyes, he reached over to place it inside the bin, knowing he'd receive a lecture on cleanliness from Flake if he left it. 

His hand halted over the bin as he moved to drop his shirt inside, and he felt his throat constrict in shock.

Laying partially obscured by a crumpled magazine in the bin was a very familiar black leather glove, the fingers of which had flecks of blood and a very specific hue of white stained across them.

Till stayed frozen for several long moments before swallowing hard.  
"Scheiße."


	3. How Does it Feel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till is having a hard time figuring out his feelings, not to mention figuring out who he'd been seeing.

Till's blood thumped loudly in his ears as he stared at the incriminating glove. It was definitely the same one.

*How?* his racing mind kept questioning. *How the hell did this happen?*

His very first reaction would have been to storm out of the bathroom and bellow for whichever of them it was to confess on threat of pain and dismemberment. Raising his voice and being intimidating were Till's go-to when he was afraid.

His scrambling mind paused for a moment to process that realization.

He was afraid? Why? Afraid of what?

Till forced himself to calm down and think rationally for a moment. Panicking or getting angry would do nothing for him except vent emotion that he didn't currently understand, and that was no better than a child throwing a fit. He was a man, for god's sake.

*A man who was just fucked in the ass by a band mate,* his mind tormented. 

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to keep himself calm, but generally failing. This really shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't as if they'd never fooled around before, he and his friends. They'd masturbated to porn together, occasionally took turns fucking the same women, and he was fairly sure during at least one night of a cocaine and booze fueled bender, all of them had taken turns jerking one another off. 

So, as close as they all were and with everything they'd done together, why the hell did this feel like such a violation?

He needed to go step by step, he reasoned with himself, and then piece together how he truly felt and what he needed to do next. The first step was of course the biggest question: who?

Flake and Oli were clearly not the ones he'd been with.Their body types were extremely distinctive, and not at all the size or shape of the man he'd met.

As far as Schneider was concerned, Till had strong doubts there too. He wracked his brain trying to think exactly how tall the man had been. He seemed to remember him being shorter. Or was he the same height? 

Fuck, why was it suddenly so hard to remember anything about the man he'd been seeing week after week? Yes, he'd had a mask and gloves on, and most of the time Till was forced to keep his eyes down, but surely there were clues to his identity that Till had seen and not paid attention to.

He thought very hard, attempting to piece together any bits he recalled. The man had dark hair, or so he thought. The mask covered partway around the head, so he could have been wearing a beanie and Till had simply not noticed. He didn't remember seeing any distinctive markings such as scars or tattoos, but then again, except for that final day, the man had always been fully clothed, with trousers and long sleeved shirts that hid his skin. When he tried to focus on the skin he *had* seen earlier today, he found his brain had really only been attentive to, well… not anything that would be helpful in identifying someone. He doubted he could pick out a specific penis from a lineup anyhow.

Till chewed at a fingernail anxiously before a banging on the bathroom door made him jump. 

"I appreciate your thoroughness in washing, but the soup is getting cold," Flake admonished from the other side of the door. 

"I'll be out in a moment," Till called.

Grimacing, he pulled on his clothes and took one last look at the discarded glove before dropping his bloodstained shirt over it. 

He resolved to keep this discovery to himself until he'd either deduced who it was, or at the very least decided how he truly felt about it. He desperately wanted to at least settle on that last point. Perhaps that was why he felt afraid-- he was worried that this betrayal of trust didn't bother him enough, or perhaps it was because he liked it?

As he left the bathroom, he nearly ran into Schneider who was just leaving his bedroom.

Till was suddenly acutely aware of the brightness of Schneider's eyes, how pale their coloring was. His eyes quickly darted to the man's mouth, trying desperately to see whether those lips had been the ones who kissed him earlier that day.

The drummer's amiable smile turned to confusion as Till stared blankly at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Till?" 

"Sorry," Till muttered, suddenly realizing he'd been frozen in place. He moved out of the way, kicking himself mentally for being so hung up on this sex thing that he couldn't function like a normal human being. 

"You all good?" Schneider asked.

Till waved a hand dismissively and pasted a fake smile on his face. 

"Ja, just lost in thought."

Schneider nodded. "Rehearsal tonight?" he asked as he walked into the bathroom.

"If everyone shows, yes."

Another nod, then Schneider closed the bathroom door behind him.

It couldn't have been Schneider. He'd have noticed the height difference, and his eyes were so distinctive. But something about how Schneider looked at him made his stomach flutter, and he couldn't decide whether it were from general anxiety or recognition. 

He sighed as he walked into the dining room. Flake looked up from where he was setting bowls on the table and nodded to him, as did Oli who was already seated.

"Much better," Flake stated approvingly. "You don't stink or look like something dead that a cat would drag in."

Till forced a smile at the joke as he sat down at the table. Oli was already digging into his bowl, and out of the corner of his eye, Till saw Richard slowly waking up to shuffle over to the table for dinner.

Flake attempted to make one meal a day for the band, but it was rather difficult to get them all together to enjoy it. Richard was usually asleep until the last second, Paul loved wandering around the city all day, Till was only at the house sporadically, bouncing between meetings, dates, studio time and general wanderings, and Schneider was often at the studio more than everyone else. Oli and Flake were usually the homebodies, though Flake did take great pleasure in morning hikes around the town. 

Flake frowned as Till quietly accepted his soup, staring off into space as Richard flopped into his seat, yawning. 

"What kind of soup is this?" Oli asked, between giant spoonfuls. 

"Just Kartoffelsuppe, with some Tyrolean speck," said Flake, seating himself after finishing setting out Richard's bowl. 

"It's outstanding," Oli enthused.

Till nodded in agreement, though he had yet to even taste it. He felt barely present, as if he were watching them all together at the table from far away. He glanced over at Richard, who was rubbing his eyes blearily. 

"Do we have to go to the studio tonight?" he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep. "I'm absolutely exhausted."

"From what?" Schneider asked, walking in and slipping into his seat. "All you do is sleep."

Richard narrowed his eyes at him in irritation, but the sleep lines on his face only made him look comical. "I was up late last night."

"You're up late every night," Schneider retorted.

As Richard began a defensive monologue about his sleep habits and circadian rhythms, Till felt his words fall away. He stared at his soup, taking note of each lumpy bit of vegetable and meat. He glanced back over at Richard, noting how his brow wrinkled just so when he was bothered by something. Till's gaze fell to the man's pouting lips, busy rattling off something about artistic sleeping patterns. 

Surely it hadn't been Richard this morning, the man he'd attempted a relationship with so many years ago.

They had been young, reckless, and willing to try just about anything as their fledgling band started to grow wings and soar with popularity. But as quickly as they'd attempted it, the relationship had soured, showing both of them just how immature and unprepared for a real relationship they'd been, much less one between band mates. They'd barely even kissed. Fortunately, that was so far in the past now that their friendship was as strong and close as it had ever been.

"Right, Till?"

"Hmm?" He was brought back to the present by the entire table staring at him. "What?"

Richard stated again, "Some people just aren't built to have normal sleep patterns, and it's not their fault they can't accommodate everyone else."

"Except it is their fault when their livelihood depends on producing and practicing music during normal business hours," Schneider said, tapping his finger on the table for emphasis.

Till shrugged. "I don't know. I just show up and sing when I'm told."

Richard rolled his eyes and sighed, annoyed that he'd not received any affirmation. Schneider looked rather smug. Oli was too busy finishing off his soup to make any remarks, while Flake was studying Till's face critically.

"Are you feeling all right?" Flake asked.

Till forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. "Fine, why?"

Schneider piped up with a mouthful of soup, "You're acting either high or sick. Very spacy."

Till shook his head and said, "I'm fine, as I said."

"You're not eating," Flake said, the tiniest note of disappointment in his voice. He took his cooking and the enjoyment of it very seriously.

Till looked down and noticed that his bowl was indeed untouched. 

"You were in a very chipper mood earlier," Oli finally interjected, his bowl now empty. "Something come up?"

Till reached down and picked up a small spoonful, hurriedly trying to think of an excuse. His friends' collective concern was admirable, but incredibly annoying at the moment.

"I did a small line in the bathroom, if you must know," he said, eating the spoonful of soup to placate Flake.

Lying wasn't a strong suit of his. It always made him feel prickly; it was the same feeling as his shirt being itchy after getting his hair cut. Being blunt and speaking his mind was far easier than lying, but in this scenario he needed to buy himself some thinking time.

The mildly concerned looks on his band mate's faces informed him that he probably should have come up with a different lie.

"Are you sure that's a good--"

"It's *fine*," Till firmly interrupted Richard's cautious question as he stood up from the table. "I obviously don't have an appetite right now, so I'm going out for a bit to move around. I'll see you at the studio tonight." He took his bowl and stowed it in the refrigerator for later.

As he rounded the corner to the front door, he heard the various mutterings of his friends at the table, discussing him in somewhat hushed tones. 

He sighed as he threw on his jacket and stomped into his boots. Better them talking about his nonexistent drug abuse than continuing to press him about something he couldn't answer yet.

As he opened the front door, he heard some shuffling behind him. 

He turned to see Flake hopping around, trying to pull on one of his boots.

"I'm coming with you," the man grunted, finally popping the boot on.

Till knew there would be no argument to the contrary. Once Flake's mind was set on something, there was essentially nothing that could dissuade him. 

"Get a jacket; it's cold out," Till said, leaving the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a second to say thank you for all the kudos! I am having an absolute blast writing this series. Please feel free to comment any questions, suggestions, or anything else your lil' hearts desire ^_^ 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this ride!


	4. Sleep on it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till and Flake go for a walk, hoping to clear some heads.

"You're not high," Flake asserted as they strolled around the city sidewalks. Tiny sprinklings of snow floated down, peppering the ground and melting to slush as they touched the earth, which was then squished underfoot as the pair made their way around town. "You're too quiet to be high."

Till barked out a laugh. He did have a strong tendency to get chatty when he was in an altered state of mind. Weed, blow, even alcohol made him suddenly verbose and brimming over with a need to talk.

"No, I'm not high."

They walked in silence for a minute or two. Apart from not wanting an argument, Till allowed Flake along because he appreciated Flake's combination of blunt honesty and respect. His honesty meshed with Till's own sense of straightforwardness, and his respect gave Till the confidence that whatever was said between them would remain only between them. It was an unspoken agreement of their friendship, and Till cherished it.

He just wished he knew what to say right now.

"I don't really know how exactly to say it," he finally admitted. 

Flake waited for him to continue. Till needed silence to formulate his thoughts, sometimes.

"All I know is one of the others is lying to me about something important."

Flake's nose scrunched against the cold and he sniffed. "How important?"

Till made a back and forth motion with his hand. "In the grand scheme of the universe, not very. In terms of my relationship with my friends, extremely. So, I don't know. I guess somewhere in the middle."

Flake tried to digest that small bit of information. He knew if Till wanted to give further detail, he would. Perhaps he couldn't just yet, so Flake tried to be patient. 

"One of them stumbled onto something rather private, and instead of telling me or just stopping, they kept going. I think… I think I feel violated." Till kicked a stray pebble on the sidewalk and watched as it clattered over a manhole cover. This felt like the beginnings of a terrible soap opera.

"How would you have felt if they told you when they first stumbled onto it?" Flake asked.

Till mulled that over. How would he have felt if, say, Schneider had entered the hotel room that first day and seen him, naked and masked? Any one of them would have recognized him immediately-- if not by his body type or hair, then certainly by his scars. 

"I suppose I would have felt briefly ashamed, but probably been fine right after. It's nothing that friends couldn't laugh at together, so I don't understand why they hid it from me."

"Who was it?"

Till shrugged, staring down at the sidewalk. "I don't know. Well, apart from you and Oli, that is."

Flake made a hmm-ing noise that told Till he was thinking.  
"I understand this is a sensitive topic, but really, Till-- this isn't much to go on. I want to be helpful or at least supportive, but there's only so much I can offer with so little."

With a miserable sigh, Till said, "Yes, I know; I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel."

"Well, at least give me some context. Is it something that could be damaging? Do we need to be concerned?"

"No. It's nothing imminent. Nothing is going to explode or burst into the media. It's just a private matter."

Flake stamped his feet a bit harder as they walked and rubbed his arms. Till knew he had difficulty handling the cold sometimes, but Flake was currently too engrossed in his musings to complain. That was how Till knew he had his friend's full attention: Flake never missed a chance to bitch and moan.

"Is it something they actually did, or just something they found?"

"Both, I suppose."

Flake shot him a look. "That isn't helpful."

Till threw his arms in the air in defeat, suddenly irritated by the questions. "Fine, what do you want me to say? One of them put on a mask and fucked me? Well, there you have it. And I only just found out it was one of them, and I have no idea which."

Flake stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed the sleeve of Till's coat, yanking at it.  
"Till, stop. I mean it, *stop.*" 

He yanked until his friend was forced to halt ahead of him. "Look at me."

Till dragged his eyes up from the pavement where they'd been settled and gave Flake a heavy look.

Flake stared hard at his face for a moment. "Are you telling me someone raped you?"

Till shook his head and wiped a hand over his face as he muttered, "No no no, not rape; nothing like that."

Flake's frown deepened, but his alarm eased. "Then what the hell happened? You're not making sense. Just tell me plainly and stop dancing around it. You need help, which is why you're talking to me in the first place. Go on."

With a heavy breath, Till then proceeded to detail what had gone on the past few weeks, how his "de-stressing" eventually culminated in sex, which led to his discovery of the glove in their trash bin and his confusion since.

Flake listened to the story wordlessly, his eyes showing no strong emotion either way. 

"That's it," Till finished. "Now we are here in the cold, and I'm telling you the story, and I have no earthly idea what to do about it, or even how I actually feel about it."

Flake blinked at him behind his constantly smudged glasses, the breath from his nose creating small puffs of clouds in the cold air. They stared at one another in silence for a few moments.

"Scheiße," Flake finally said.

"Scheiße indeed," Till repeated. 

"And you're absolutely positive that was the same glove in the bin?"

"Yes. I know cum stains when I see them, and I know for a fact it was the same glove."

Flake wrinkled his nose at the explicit detail but ignored it otherwise. 

"All right, so we know it was one of them, excluding me of course--"

"And Oli," Till added. "He wasn't that tall."

"Was he shorter than you? You might eliminate Schneider if so."

"That's what I can't remember."

"The three have very different body types, Till."

"Yes I know," Till bit back, slightly irked. "I said already that I was only rarely allowed to look at him, so I never really took note of his proportions. And if you're about to lecture me on safe sexual practice, I appreciate the concern but I'd rather skip it."

Flake hmphed but didn't press the issue. Till had years upon years of experience in that area, so he was sure Till took whatever precautions he thought necessary. It still bothered him how casual Till's dating and sex life had remained over the years, but it became somewhat of a normalized bother. His friend was happy with how he lived, and that was good enough for Flake.

It just made situations like this one particularly difficult. Not that they'd had a situation quite this convoluted, but on more than one occasion, Flake had been something of a third wheel when trying to either re-connect or extract Till from various trysts. 

"Well?"

"Well what?" Till had resumed walking with Flake following close beside.

"Well, what are you going to do now?"

Till shook his head. "I really don't know. I don't want to sit everyone down and ask which one has had their cock inside me--"

"Till, please," Flake groaned. "I don't need the mental picture."

"I'm sorry that *my* predicament has made *you* uncomfortable, Herr Lorenz. I shall endeavor not to accidentally sleep with a bandmate the next time I find someone to anonymously whip and cane me whilst naked and cuffed to the floor."

Till fought back a grin as he surreptitiously looked over at Flake. The man's ears were bright red and his feet sped up their awkward shuffle along the cobblestones. 

"You're terrible," he muttered. "And just because you have no idea where to go from here doesn't mean you need to torment me along with you."

A laugh turned to fog in front of Till's lips. "Fair."

After a few more silent minutes of walking, the two had made a nice circle of the few blocks surrounding their flat, returning them near to their doorstep. Till stretched his hands up over his head and groaned. 

"I really don't have any idea what to do, Flake."

"I wish I had an idea for you," Flake confessed. "This is something I actually don't know that I can help with."

"What would you do?"

Flake chuckled, a nervous sounding half-laugh that Till loved hearing, as it was a fairly rare occurence. 

"What I would do is have sex like a regular person, first off," he stated. "You wine them, dine them, fuck them, and then depending on how drunk you still are, either throw up in their potted plant or out on the front drive the next morning on your way out, all while paying attention to whether they're your bandmate or not."

Till laughed heartily, a belly laugh that echoed off the surrounding apartments. "That sounds suspiciously specific, Lorenz."

Flake shrugged, reaching for the door to their flat. "It's the only good advice I have."

He looked over at Till who was still smiling, then turned serious. "Look, you aren't truly in a crisis about it. If you were, you'd not have laughed at something so terrible."

Till sobered a bit, but realized that was true. Walking had cooled his head, as he knew it would. He was feeling much more even-tempered about the entire situation than before.

"You told me you enjoyed yourself at first. So, we'll go rehearse tonight, let you sleep on the situation, and see how you feel tomorrow. You'll figure out what to do, I'm sure. Perhaps they'll even tell you themselves and save you the trouble."

"That would certainly save me time, yes," Till admitted, knocking snow off his boots on the steps before they stepped back inside. "As always, thank you for the words, Flake."

"As always, don't bother thanking until there is no situation left to thank about. Then you may sing my praises." Flake glanced back outside before closing the door.

"Ah. Looks like Paul's home. We can head to the studio, then."

Till's stomach did a small roll at the thought of Paul. He was the only one he'd not seen yet today. But, he tamped down the nervous feeling to focus on what they needed to do at the studio. Perhaps like Flake said, he just needed to sleep on it.


	5. Heartache Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening finally comes to a close. Is Till any closer to finding the answers he wants?

Whatever composure Till had regained through his walk with Flake sustained him through their rehearsal and follow-up meeting. It was a boring one, going over the same things they always seemed to go over, rehashing parts and tone and a million other tiny details that all blurred together for him.

He was fortunate to have enough money to pay people to take care of those millions of details. Unfortunately, he still needed to be present to sign off on them with the rest of the band.

Regardless, the meeting went smoothly, and Till had almost put out of his mind the happenings of that morning. A slight exception was when he first saw Paul at the flat before they left. Paul had grinned his normal grin upon seeing him, patting his shoulder as Till walked by. But the look in Paul's eye-- it had been something Till couldn't place. It was almost an avoiding look, as if he didn't want to meet his eyes for too long.

Apart from that, the rest of the evening passed without incident, and the group piled back into the car around 2am, having stopped off for drinks on their way back. Oli had declined, going instead to stay over with family for the night.

Paul had driven, and remained sober. Flake had exactly one beer, sipped over the course of an hour. He had intentions of getting up early for a brief hiking trip and didn't wish to be hungover for it. Schneider had two extravagantly fruity drinks that had been drowned in very strong alcohol, which he claimed made them wash down as if they were no more than juice. This had rendered him fairly drunk. Richard was the man of the hour, having pounded three beers, 5 shots of whiskey, and nearly an entire bottle of wine in the span of about 45 minutes. Till had a few glasses of whiskey that got him comfortably buzzed but barely drunk, and was fully entertained with Richard's drunken antics.

Failing to find a woman to woo at the bar, Richard had amused himself on the drive home by singing through the choruses of Rammstein's discography, album by album until Paul finally blasted the radio loud enough to drown him out.

A bit flushed, Till rolled his window down and stuck his head out, letting the frigid, snowy air blast at his reddened face. A chorus of voices began yelling at him to close the window, but he ignored them for a moment, enjoying the tiny patters of snow that hit against his closed eyelids and cooled them.

"Fuck's sake, Till, it's freezing!" Schneider said, reaching over and grabbing the neck of his coat. "Get your face back inside." 

He hauled at Till's coat to try and drag him back into the car, but drunkenly lost his hold and ended up flopping right into Till's lap instead. 

Schneider burst into laughter, cackling as they hit a bump and he fell further into Till's lap. Till looked down at the rosy-cheeked man, who had tears streaming from his eyes because of his drunken laughing fit.

He felt a giggle bubbling up inside himself too at the sight. But something was nagging at the back of his mind, and refused to let go. What was it? 

Schneider finally rolled himself upright, the back of his head now laid in Till's lap as he stared up, his pale eyes reddened from drinking. Till stared at him, and his inebriated brain finally made the connection. 

Oh, yes. He'd had sex with one of the men in this car, possibly Schneider, who was now in his lap. That's what it was.

Before he could move him, Schneider started rolling away again. 

"No wonder the women love you. Your crotch is comfortable as hell," Schneider snickered as he made his wobbly way back to his seat. Richard guffawed drunkenly and Paul chuckled along with him. Flake was busy tapping out keyboard notes on the armrest in time with the radio.

Till sighed and rubbed his face with the back of his arm, the fun of the evening suddenly sucked from him. 

Richard continued his drunken caterwauling all the way home, much to Paul's displeasure. They dumped him, finally asleep, on the living room sofa when they returned to the flat. Schneider staggered off to his room as Paul did likewise, again parting with a pat on Till's back. Till waved halfheartedly as he trudged to his empty bedroom and collapsed onto his bed. He only briefly debated taking off his clothes before his tiredness and half-drunk exhaustion caught up to him.

He barely managed to kick off his boots before sleep tried to smother him. 

A muffled yelling from the living room pried its way into his semi-drunken, half-asleep thoughts. He sat up blearily and listened. It sounded like Richard. 

Till groaned miserably and stood up. Paul wore noise canceling ear buds to sleep, Flake could only be roused by the trumpet of judgement day, if even that, and Schneider was probably too far into the throes of drunken slumber to hear Richard's hollering. 

Till staggered through the hallway and into the living room.

"The hell is it, Rich?" He slurred, partly from the alcohol but primarily from exhaustion. 

A slurry of words fell out of the man's mouth and were caught by the couch cushion pressed at his face. Till sighed and pulled the cushion away. "What?"

"I don't wanna…. I need a drink," he babbled, rolling to the side of the couch. "I don' feel good."

At that, Till became significantly more awake. Having been around drunk Richard long enough, he knew he had about 4 seconds to find a trash can and bring it before Richard would unleash hell from his stomach. 

Till leaped across the room and grabbed the little can, racing it back over to Richard's side, just as he saw his back start to arch. 

Richard retched into the trash can as Till held him steady, still a bit woozy himself. He had certainly become a light weight in his older age. Booze hit him quicker and for much longer than it had in the past. Richard seemed to stay perpetually young in the sense that alcohol had the same effects it had always had over him, predictably so.

After a few more convulsions, Richard slumped back onto the couch, muttering incoherently. Till wiped the man's face with some napkins from their coffee table, then took the trash can and dumped it into the bathroom toilet. He rinsed the can and placed it back next to Richard just in case. The man was asleep now, snoring as usual. Till yawned as he fetched a glass of water and put it on the coffee table next to Richard. He would want to drink and wash his mouth out when he woke next, Till knew.

He paused for a moment before leaving the living room, casting a parting glance at Richard's sprawled body. His arm dangled down over the side of the couch, and his torso rose and fell in time with his grating snores.

*What if it had been Richard?* Till wondered. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. He may have gone out and returned home before the others saw him, and he knew for a fact Richard had found him attractive, at least in the past.

A pang of heartache forced Till to look away. He couldn't bring that back up again. Perhaps it was for the best he didn't know who it had been. Maybe he was saving himself from more pain this way.

He stumbled back to his room without another look at his friend and fell into bed, willing himself to sleep to escape the ever-increasing absurdity and confusion of wakefulness. 

*At least in my dreams, I'm not forced to make sense of everything,* was his last conscious thought of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short-ish post. I'm having so much fun writing this, and while this seems a bit of filler, it fit so perfectly that I couldn't squish it in with other stuff. Hope you are still enjoying.


	6. Morning Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till's morning comes to a head

Till slept, a dreamless, heavy sleep that disoriented him when he awoke the next day. Midday sunlight shone hot on his face through the skewed blinds over the window. 

He squinted in irritation and rolled over. More sleep sounded like a fine plan. He pulled his pillow overtop his head to block out the light.

The door of the flat opened and then slammed shut with a bang, startling him. Flake was probably returning from his hike.

He heard an exaggerated groan from the living room, followed by a string of colorful curse words aimed most likely at Flake. Well, Richard was awake. 

Flake began an overly loud conversation with him, probably as payback for the awful car-concert he'd given last night, and Till sighed. He wouldn't be going back to sleep. 

He rolled out of bed, not impressed that he'd fallen asleep in his clothes. After re-dressing himself, he made his way to the kitchen where Flake was putting away some groceries. 

"Guten Tag," he nodded in Till's direction. 

"You need to stop slamming doors everywhere you go," Till complained, reaching in the refrigerator for a bottle of water. 

Flake shrugged. "If you can't be awake by 3 in the afternoon, I don't find it my obligation to walk on eggshells the entire day."

Till rolled his eyes but didn't protest further, downing the bottle in a few large gulps. He tossed the empty bottle in the trash and went into the living room.

"You look terrible," he quipped at Richard, sitting down on one of their recliners and kicking his feet up. 

Richard shot him a death glare, which looked hilarious with his eyeliner smudged and hair completely askew. Till really wondered why he felt the need to dress up so much just to go out. 

"I have a hangover," Richard said, an obvious statement. 

"I don't doubt it. I'm amazed you could still walk last night."

Richard's eyes suddenly widened in horror.  
"What, uh, what did I end up doing last night?"

Till raised an eyebrow. "Did you black out?"

"I wouldn't be asking what happened if I could remember, genius."

"Maybe if you didn't drink so much you'd not have that problem, *genius*."

"Enough!" Schneider roared from the bedroom over. "Just let me fucking sleep!" 

His door slammed closed, and a wide-eyed Paul appeared in the living room.

"Something tells me Schneider had a rough night," he quipped, sitting down next to Richard and turning the tv on. "It's those damn fruity drinks. They're full of sugar and give the worst hangovers."

Richard shot another worried glance at Till. "I just want to make sure what memory I've got of last night was just a dream and not real."

Paul stopped flipping channels and looked at Richard, suddenly interested. "Oh? Do tell."

Richard rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Did I do anything, er, *untoward* last night?"

Till chuckled. "Your entire existence could be called "untoward," Rich. Be more specific."

He rolled his eyes. "I just have a very vivid recollection of some, well-- sexual advances, but I didn't remember bringing anyone home. And obviously there isn't anyone here now."

Till's mind immediately sprang back to the previous day, replaying the hands grabbing frantically at his hips; sharp, rough thrusts into him and the feverish way the arms had encircled him and held him close as the man had come.

Till snapped back to the present and found himself studying Richard's hands-- ones he knew for a fact had experience with other men. He'd made damn sure Till knew about it too when they'd broken up so many years ago. It still gave him a sick feeling at the thought. Richard had been dead set on hurting him, and he'd done a phenomenal job. It still stung.

"No," Till finally said. "You threw up once you got home, but you stayed put and slept there last night."

Richard sighed in relief. "Good. Glad I didn't subject any of you to that."

Till ignored him and turned to face the tv. His memories had left a bad taste in his mouth, even from so many years ago. 

Paul on the other hand was intrigued. "No no, you're not getting off that easy. Tell us what the dream was." He poked Richard in the side, making him squirm away and swat at Paul's hand.

"I'd really rather not," he said, reddening a bit.

Schneider appeared in the living room, his curly hair an explosion of unkempt tangles and a particularly sour look on his face. "No, do tell us what is so important that it can't be kept at a reasonable volume until everyone is awake." He flopped onto a chair, apparently resigned to wakefulness. 

Before Richard could answer or protest further, Flake called from the kitchen, "Anyone want coffee now that you're all up?"

A chorus of "Ja's" followed the question. 

"I'll help him," Till offered, suddenly wanting to leave the room. He felt stifled amongst the three, and the consistent need to know which of them had been with him weighed on him like an anchor, dragging his emotions and mood down with it.

"I'll make him retell it if it's especially juicy," Paul promised as Till left the room.

Till trudged into the kitchen. Flake was busy grinding coffee beans, so Till put on water to boil. 

"I don't like this, Flake."

"Hmmm?" He stopped grinding and looked over. "This roast? I didn't think you cared one way or the other about the coffee."

"No, not the coffee. This situation."

"Ah, right. I take it sleeping on the matter didn't help?"

Till shook his head miserably. "Made it worse, I'm fairly sure. I can't stop thinking about it."

Flake gave him a sympathetic look. "You could always just ask them."

Till chewed at the inside of his lip. "I hate confrontation."

"I know, but wouldn't it be better to have it out and done with?"

Till grimaced. He knew Flake was right. He just absolutely loathed confronting people, about anything. He wished he were mad so he'd at least be able to hide behind a shield of anger. As it stood, his emotions about the situation were completely foreign to him. He wasn't angry, and though he felt slightly betrayed at the deception, his overwhelming emotion was, surprisingly enough, something akin to need or longing. 

"If I were you," Flake said in a quieter voice so those in the living room wouldn't hear, "I would take them out, one by one and just ask. Even if they lie to you, you'll at least have the satisfaction of doing things on your own terms, and then you can stop moping around the house like a lost dog." 

He shooed Till away. "Thank you for putting on the water. Now go."

Till obeyed and stuck his hands in his pockets forlornly, trudging back out to the living room. 

Richard had flopped back onto the couch with Schneider having swapped places with Paul, and was now lazily sitting next to Richard. Paul was at rapt attention watching a soccer game on tv. 

Till cleared his throat awkwardly and then pointed his chin toward the door.

"Paul, come on. Let's go for a walk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready, lovely readers. It's about to go DOWN


	7. Walk of Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Till go for a walk. Chaos ensues.

Paul was nervous about something, that much was crystal clear. He fidgeted with his hands in his jacket pockets, searched the ground to find pebbles to kick, anything that kept his gaze away from Till's. 

"What's on your mind?" Paul asked, a false cheer in his voice. Even his words sounded strained.

Till looked over at him, desperately trying to think of how to phrase what he needed to say. 

"Well, a lot, actually."

Paul glanced up at him, but as soon as their eyes met, he tore his gaze away and looked back down at the ground. 

"Paul, come on. Look at me. This is hard enough without you acting like a scared rabbit."

Paul sighed and scuffed his foot on the ground, but didn't look up. "I know what you're going to ask. It wasn't me."

Till felt a wave of relief rush through him that was quickly replaced by confusion. "What do you mean? How did you even know what I was going to say?"

"He told me."

Till felt his stomach twist into a horrible knot.   
"Who told you?"

Paul shook his head slowly. "I gave my word I wouldn't say. That was the only condition of him telling me."

"Fuck conditions," Till sputtered, anger rising in him suddenly. "I need to know who the fuck it was. Answer me, Paul."

"I can't. It's not my place." Paul looked up at him finally, a pained, apologetic look on his face. "He came to me in a panic, said he'd fucked up and needed help. He just asked for advice, and I tried to help how I could. I really didn't know what to say. That's all I can tell you, Till. I'm sorry."

Till wanted to punch or throw something, anything that could direct his anger away from himself. He hated feeling as if he'd been left in the dark.

"Fuck. It's not bad enough that I was lied to, but now the whole band fucking knows. Excellent."

"It was only him that came to me. I've not said anything otherwise, and neither has he," Paul offered.

That did little to comfort Till.

"What the hell am I supposed to do? Wait until he decides to come clean? Ignore it? Tell me, since you're apparently the one to go to for problem solving, Paul."

Paul looked miserable, and it made Till feel somewhat bad, but his shame forced his angry facade to hold firm. 

"I don't know," Paul admitted quietly. "He never told me what he was going to do about it. He just needed someone to tell him it was going to be ok."

"Well it fucking isn't okay now, is it? I can't believe this. What am I supposed to do?" Till repeated.

"I wish I could tell you," Paul said apologetically.

"And I wish people would stop saying that to me and give me actual advice," Till spat in irritation. 

"If I had any, I would give it. You know I would."

"Do I?" Till bit back. "Because it's seeming more and more like I know nothing in regard to my band mates. It's usually a courtesy to let them know when one of them fucks you in the ass."

Paul flinched as Till made a rude gesture along with his last statement. 

"I'm sorry. I know he should have said something. I just think he was scared."

"Oh, was he? How convenient for him. Maybe he should have considered that before fucking me."

"Till, please, quiet down a bit. People will hear."

Till was about to shout even louder, ready to let the whole world hear about how he'd been fucked and lied to, but then realized he was acting like a child in public. He snapped his mouth shut and gritted his teeth. 

"Thanks for nothing, Paul. Great talk," he hissed, turning on his heel and heading back to the flat.

"Till, wait," Paul called, jogging back after him. 

Till ignored him, as he was apparently not done acting childish. It felt good to turn his back on his friend who'd seemingly done the same to him.

"Come on, Till. I didn't have much of a choice. Look, stop, I'll try to explain a bit more if I can. Please."

Till slowed his walk but didn't stop, allowing Paul to catch up to him. 

"Explain away," he said cooly. It was now his turn to refuse to meet Paul's gaze. 

"He came to me in a panic. He said he thought he'd done something awful and he had no idea how to make it right. He was scared if he told you, you'd-- well-- act how you're acting now."

"And am I wrong in doing so?" Till asked.

Paul shook his head. "No. You have every right to be angry, and I told him as much. This isn't something that goes away with a "sorry" or just coming clean about it. He violated your trust--"

"Among other things," said Till bitterly.

"Right. Well, all I can offer is a helpful push. I'll speak to him tonight, if you want. Tell him to come to you himself and man up. It's the least I can do."

Till sighed, then looked over at Paul. The man's face was the perfect picture of sorrow, and it made Till uncomfortable. 

"Stop looking like a kicked puppy," he muttered. "I hate it."

Paul laughed a bit, then put a hand on Till's shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off, but knew being pissy did him no good. Paul had probably been just as surprised by the whole situation, and he didn't fault him for trying to console a friend. He just wished the situation hadn't arisen in the first place.

"If wishes were fishes," Till quoted quietly. 

Paul, seeming not to have heard him, patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry this all happened like this. I tried to get him to tell you that first day, but he was absolutely terrified. He thought he'd fucked up so badly that you'd never speak to him again."

Till sighed deeply. "I'm not really angry. I'm just… hurt, I suppose. I can't fathom the mindset he would have been in to do that."

Paul searched his face for something before venturing a hesitant question. "Do you regret it happening?"

Till thought hard on that for awhile.

Did he? He certainly felt betrayed and regretful about finding out how he did. But that didn't necessarily extend to the actual act. He'd enjoyed himself thoroughly, of course. And even now, knowing it had been one of his friends, he didn't feel that enjoyment lessen. Depending on which it had been, Till might even be happy about it. 

Hurriedly, he clamped down on that creeping emotion. 

That, right there. *That* was what scared him. That was actually why he was angry and afraid and every other emotion that railed inside him.

He was afraid of being happy. 

He was afraid that the happiness and contentment he'd felt was only temporary, and allowing that feeling to be brought back into his home and everyday life was a death sentence for it. His relationships never ended well, and as far as he was concerned, they never would. Pursuing a relationship with a bandmate was asking for pain, he knew. He'd already been shown as much. 

But regret?

No. Even now, knowing what he did and having narrowed it down to two people, he didn't regret it, and knew he never would, whatever ended up happening because of it. 

He shook his head finally. "No. I don't regret it."

Paul nodded slowly.   
"I'll talk to him. I think that should help ease his fear, a bit."

Till rubbed a hand across his face, for what felt like the hundredth time. It was a habit he had when he was stressed.   
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I appreciate you doing that, and I'm sorry I shouted at you."

Paul shrugged, a thin smile on his lips. "I'd be concerned if you didn't shout. It's a bit of a mess."

"You can say that again." 

Paul chuckled and patted Till's shoulder once more as they walked back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope y'all are as excited as I am. Cuz I'm pretty darn excited xD


	8. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till is forced to sit and think, two things he hates doing.

Till fought the urge to pace, choosing instead to bite at his fingernails until they were sore. He and Paul had returned to a suspiciously empty flat. Flake had texted him that he was going out for a walk as well, and wished him luck in his talks; Oli was still with family; and Till had no idea where Richard and Schneider had gone. Paul told him he'd get ahold of the others and push whichever of them it had been to come talk to him.

For now, Till was left to sit and think, two things he hated doing. 

Coming to the realization earlier that he was afraid of being happy wasn't as big of a revelation as it seemed. He always had an inkling that was the case. 

Ever a masochist, Till enjoyed suffering. He constantly suffered for his art, sometimes literally. He'd bled onto pages of his poetry book, flogged himself until he'd been barely able to move despite being drunk, been burned countless times from his pyrotechnics, and writing music and lyrics was never as purposeful as when he was in the deepest pits of depression and angst. 

Pain bred good art, at least in his mind, so pain in turn had become as close a friend to him as any one of his band mates, or even his family. 

His pocket buzzed insistently. He pulled his phone out to see a text message from Paul.

"Doom and Rich went drinking again. Tried getting him to talk. He said he will tonight when they get back.

Till groaned. It was hardly even 5pm yet. Neither Schneider nor Richard practiced much self control when it came to alcohol, so Till doubted he'd see either of them before they were falling-over drunk later tonight.

He tapped out a message back to Paul:

"Please just tell me which it was."

A response came a few seconds later. 

"I can't. I'm sorry. But if he doesn't talk to you tonight, I'll drag his ass to you first thing tomorrow. Good?"

Till sighed.

"Good."

He debated texting Flake to inform him of the situation, but knew he'd not get a response back until he had returned from his walk. Flake treasured his alone time outside and never used his phone while out unless it was an emergency.

Till tossed his phone onto his bed and began pacing, trying to think of something to do. Passing time seemed like his only option until the pair returned. Perhaps he could text both Schneider and Richard, keep abreast of their goings on as they were out. It would at least keep him informed, and maybe if they got drunk enough, one of them would come clean to him.

He was a desperate fool, he acknowledged as much, and though a part of him just wanted to message both and ask outright who had been with him, he knew it would be a terrible idea over text. As much as waiting was killing him, he needed to be told in person.

He grabbed his phone from the bed anyway and typed out two identical messages-- one to Schneider and one to Richard.

"Hey, did you go to the studio?"

He figured playing dumb was an acceptable first move. 

Schneider replied immediately.

"Nee, there's a metal music quiz thing at the bar. €45 prize.  
Richard's winning."

Of course he was. Say what you will about the man, he knows his metal. 

Richard took a bit longer to reply, and then only with

"WINNING ATHE PUB."

He was probably already drunk. Even drunk Richard's trivia skills were remarkable. Till had no doubt he would win handily. 

"Good luck," he texted both Richard and Schneider. 

Till began mentally rehearsing how the scenarios would play out depending on which man came to him.

If it were Schneider, Till could see a very frank discussion about boundaries and communication, as well as simply figuring out how they'd ended up in that situation to begin with. He didn't anticipate anything too intense. Schneider was known for his wide varieties of sexual kinks, at least from what Till had accidentally learned over the years. He didn't doubt it was entirely possible he was looking for the same thing Till was, and just got swept up in it. 

They would talk, laugh, perhaps be a bit awkward for a few days, and that would be it.

That conversation didn't worry him. 

Richard, on the other hand...

Till felt his gut twist painfully. If it were Richard, he didn't relish the conversation to follow. 

Too many times in the past had the two butted heads over everything under sun, from inconsequential nonsense to issues that nearly tore the band apart. None of that had even come close to their fight when they ended their attempt at a relationship.

Ended was a polite word. Obliterated the ever loving shit out of it might be a more accurate way to phrase what had happened. 

Though he didn't want it to, Till's mind flashed back to that horrible night. 

They were touring at the time, so it was essentially a nightly routine of drugs, alcohol, and far too many women to count. They had made an arrangement, of sorts, that was far from any normal relationship. A few weeks prior, they'd drunkenly confessed to finding one another attractive, and simply left it at that. They'd flirt, make overt remarks at one another, and at one point, they'd been bold enough to kiss backstage before a show. 

Relationships were foreign things to Till, and he had no concept of faithfulness or monogamy. Richard didn't have much experience either, but he did dabble in more serious relationships every now and again.

After their confession of mutual attraction, however, their dynamic shifted dramatically. They'd flirted and danced around something resembling a relationship for several weeks, never fully acknowledging whatever they had together. Till supposed that was part of the problem. They'd both assumed whatever they had would be just fine without definitions or addressing of it at all. They could simply enjoy themselves and let whatever happened happen. 

But that was where the good between them ended. Both had been notorious womanizers, caring very little about who they slept with and when, so long as it was fun for them. In an odd twist, both had slowly become jealous of one another, despite never having pursued more than a brief kiss together. 

Till had shown his jealousy in the only way he knew how: more drugs, more drinking, and more women. He buried himself in parties and slowly distanced himself from Richard, reasoning if he didn't want things to continue in a more serious way, he'd just let whatever they had drift away quietly. 

Richard, on the other hand, went completely the opposite direction. He sought Till out at every turn, attempting to seduce him and flirt with him in an almost nonstop barrage of attention. When that failed, and Till simply forced barriers between them, Richard began a crusade aimed at throwing every single person he slept with, dated, and even kissed right into Till's face. His immature mind had convinced him if Till were jealous enough, he'd simply tell Richard he wanted him, and they'd go back to how they were before. 

The final straw came one night after a show; Till had foregone his usual partying because of a message from Richard, asking to meet him and talk seriously. 

Till had been excited. Richard had ceased his jealous antics a week or so prior, and had apparently settled himself somewhat on the partying side of things. Rumors traveled like speeding horses through the band, and Till had heard on good authority (Schneider, oddly enough) that Richard was looking for something serious again. Till allowed himself to be hopeful, to be eager. He'd been so confused at his emotions toward his bandmate and friend that he tried cordoning them off and distancing himself, but he concluded that he truly did love Richard. 

Now, it seemed Richard had come to terms with that as well. 

Till had been left Richard's spare hotel keycard, and felt an odd combination of heat in his cheeks and butterflies in his stomach as he rode the elevator up to his friend's room. 

Back in the present, Till swallowed a painful lump in his throat, just as he'd swallowed nervously back then and opened Richard's door.

The man was lying sprawled, buck-ass naked on the hotel bed with another man, also naked. Whiskey bottles, bongs, mirrors with cocaine lines prepped along them, and even needles lay scattered around the room haphazardly. Till's mouth fell open in shock. 

Richard spotted him and called out to him gleefully.

"Tillieee!" he'd drawled, gesturing for him to come over. " 'm so glad you came! C'mere, I wanted to ask you something important."

Richard was blazed out of his mind, Till saw. His pupils were blown, and he could see used needles tossed next to the bed beside empty beer bottles. 

"Richard--" Till breathed, attempting to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. "What the fuck are you doing to yourself?"

"Awww, Tillie, c'mon, I have that important question!" Richard insisted, rolling across the bed toward him. His partner in bed giggled shyly and waved. Till didn't wave back.

"Till," Richard attempted to stop giggling and be serious, but generally failed. "Will you do me the honor.… of being in a threesome with me and this damn hunk?" He poked at the ass of the man in bed with him, who swatted his hand playfully. 

Till shook his head slowly, still in shock. "I can't believe you. I literally can't believe it, Rich. You swore the most you'd ever touch was blow, and now you've got, what-- fucking heroin?"

"Oh don't give me that," Richard waved a hand dismissively. "You'd have jumped on it too if I asked you to do it with me, honeybun."

Till had felt revulsion creeping into his throat at the pet name, but even more so that Richard had gone to such lengths to-- to what, to embarrass him? Make him jealous? Self-destruct right in front of him?

"Richard, I--" Till had stuttered, unsure if he could even say the words anymore. He took a deep breath and did so anyway. "I love you."

He'd seen Richard's eyes darken at that, and the man sobered a bit before answering, "Well too fucking bad, isn't it? Unless you want to share my bed like you share yours every day, then I guess we're done."

Till's mouth tried to work, tried to say something, anything that could put some sense into Richard's brain, but nothing came to him. 

Richard had turned back to his companion, waving a hand in Till's direction. "Don't let the door hit you on your way out, hun."

With that, Till had watched in dumb shock as Richard began humping at the other man, laughing and spanking his ass merrily. 

Till left the room silently.

It had taken three weeks for him to even be able to speak with Richard in the same room as him, and well on two years for them to come back to some semblance of normalcy between them.

But the pain was still there, just as caustic and burning as the day he'd walked into the room, any time he thought of that night. 

Now, his eyes stung, and he rubbed at the moisture in the corners of them in irritation. 

No, if it had been Richard, the conversation would not be a pleasant one. 

He grabbed his phone to check the time, and was suprised to see two messages from Schneider.

The first read:  
"Richard won, and ran off with some girl. Said he'd be back at the flat later tonight. He wasn't terribly drunk so I let him go. Headed back now."

The second, sent fifteen minutes ago:  
"We need to talk."


	9. Schneider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider has a long-awaited talk with Till

Relief hit Till so hard it felt like a freight train running him over. He released a large breath and felt his tension vanish with it.

It was Schneider. All of his anxiety, all the dredging up of horrible past memories was unnecessary. Now he could focus on what to say to his friend to work out why he'd hidden his identity from him. That was much easier than what he'd been bracing for.

Till checked the time, estimating Schneider to be back any minute now if he'd left the bar almost 20 minutes ago. He hadn't realized how long he'd been sitting and stewing over the past. It had been over an hour. Part of him wanted to shoot Richard a text and ask if he were all right to get back home, but trusted Schneider's judgement in leaving him alone. Besides, Richard got very pissy if interrupted while with a woman. 

A light knock on his door suprised Till. He'd not heard anyone enter the flat. 

"Ja?"

"It's Schneider."

Till took a deep breath. Here goes, then.

"Come in."

Schneider opened the door and stepped inside. Till saw he was dressed very casually for an evening out. He wore a pair of jeans, faded but not ripped, that hugged some of his curves but laid flat along others. His shirt was a black button down with a red t-shirt underneath. Not the same type of button down as the other day in the hotel, however. His hair was his usual slightly-unkept mess of medium length curls.

"Hey," Schneider said lamely, hands in his pockets.

"Hey," Till responded. He gestured toward Oli's bed so Schneider could sit down. 

Not one for beating around the bush, Schneider put his hands on his thighs and sat down, then said, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Till hadn't anticipated an apology right out of the gate, but Schneider was easy to speak to, and he inclined his head, accepting the apology. 

"Thank you for that," he said quietly. "I'm not angry, just so you know. I was mostly just confused and shocked. I just really wanted to know why."

Schneider looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened. 

"No, no, that's not how I meant that at all. You thought it was me? Fuck, no, Till, no no. I was just apologizing for keeping him from telling you. It was Richard."

Till was sure his heart had literally become iron and sunk into the deepest pit of his stomach. He felt the anxiety he'd displaced earlier come racing back twice as hard.

Schneider must have seen the stunned look on his face, because he took a deep breath and continued.

"I didn't want him to tell you because I knew it would hurt you both. I guess he told Paul first; I have no idea what they said or when they even talked. I just know he came to me yesterday and asked if he should tell you. I told him no. I told him to get drunk and have fun and forget about it. I thought you would both forget about it or something, I don't know. Today he told me he *had* to say something, because Paul said somehow you knew it was one of us. I still told him no. I don't know why."

He looked up at Till, who didn't meet his eyes. He was still wrestling with the realization, so Schneider continued speaking. 

"I'm so sorry, Till. I just can't handle it when shit like this comes between us. It made me remember years ago when I encouraged Richard to tell you how he felt about you."

Schneider winced apologetically. "We know how well that turned out, so I was determined not to let it happen again. I thought if he said nothing, it would go away. I didn't know you had actual proof it was him. I'm so sorry."

Till sucked in a deep breath, and then released it. He suddenly didn't feel, well, anything really. His mind was calm now, almost numb. He could see Schneider had their best interests in mind when withholding what he did. He could see him panicking when shown an imminent confrontation, so he deflected. He could see exactly why he did what he did. It all made perfect sense. 

So why didn't he feel anything about it? The lack of emotion chilled him.

"It's okay," Till said calmly. "You don't need to apologize."

Schneider looked a bit confused, as well as hesitant. "Are… are you sure you're okay, Till? I appreciate your level-headedness, but--"

"I said it's okay. You did what you thought would help. It's probably what I would have done in your place."

Schneider seemed unsure, but nodded his head slowly.  
"What are you going to do now, then?" he asked carefully, as if afraid Till might suddenly snap.

Till shrugged. "I think I need to step out for a smoke." 

"Do you want me to get ahold of Richard so you two can talk?"

Till shook his head and said, "Nee, leave him be. If he wants to speak to me, he knows my number. Thank you for telling me, Christoph."

With that, Till rose from the bed and walked to the door, grabbing his coat from the dresser before walking out. Paul was in the living room, watching TV. He looked up as Till strode past.

"Hey, Till, Richard texted me and said--"

"I'm going out to get cigarettes," Till interrupted flatly. "I'll be back later."

"Well, but, Richard said--"

Till slammed the door closed behind him, silencing his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one, but I wanted it to hit hard and fast, just like it hit Till. 
> 
> <3 more to come soon.


	10. Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard comes home.

Schneider was nearly beside himself with worry. He was consumed with the thought that he'd fucked up again and pushed Richard and Till even further apart. He paced the living room frantically, checking his phone every 30 or so seconds.

Flake had returned home in the middle of Schneider's meltdown, only asking Paul for a brief summary before assessing the rest for himself. He sat with a very solemn expression over near the back door, also checking his phone every so often. When Schneider asked him what he was doing, Flake cryptically said, "I'm trying to figure out how long Till needs to be away for."

Oli had arrived back a few minutes before, and Schneider had pounced on him, interrogating him about Till and Richard to an unsatisfying conclusion. Oli knew nothing, and even once filled in, generally seemed to prefer staying out of it, though he sat with the rest of them in the living room to wait.

As for Paul, he sat with his head in his hands, miserably accepting his fate as an ineffective mediator among his bandmates. Why everyone thought him to be the most stable band member, he couldn't say. He certainly wasn't. He'd had more than his fair share of meltdowns and freakouts. Perhaps people saw his soft exterior as a welcome invitation to their trauma and hardships, content to use him as a breathing psychology fix for their difficulties and issues.

Paul felt suddenly ashamed. He knew his friends had never viewed him as such, and it was egotistical to think otherwise. He knew he had a talent for being quiet when the occasion called for it, and he supposed that was why everyone viewed him as the tour counselor, or whatever passed for that role nowadays. It had been nearly a year since they'd seen their private psychiatrist, and Paul was certain it had affected their relationships negatively.

Richard had texted him earlier, a mess of a text that he'd eventually decoded as pleading for help amidst his drunken hookup. He still felt awful for Richard despite the man's obviously terrible life choices. He sent an Uber to Richard and hoped for the best. At worst, he'd reconnect with Richard tomorrow and drag him back to Till, as promised. At best, the last text from Richard swore he'd be back at the house within the hour. 

For all of Paul's faults, he did not go back on his word. Whatever the situation, he'd promised Till to bring Richard to him to talk tomorrow. What time that would be or whatever state Richard might be in was irrelevant. Paul would keep his word. 

Now, however, he didn't know where Till had gone, and Schneider was less than helpful with his panicking.

"Where do you think he went, Flake?" Paul asked.

Flake shrugged. "He isn't answering any texts."

"Do you think he really went for cigarettes?" Oli questioned, the tiniest note of worry in his words. Oli was never one to show overly strong emotion, but it was clear he loved and cared for his friends, as he stayed with them despite not necessarily being part of the mess.

Flake sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, a move everyone knew meant he was stressed.   
"I don't think so."

They all sat quietly for a few minutes, each worried in their own way. 

"I don't know where he'd go," Flake finally admitted. "He's normally very predictable, even when he's upset. I've not seen him so bothered or erratic before."

"I should have just told him," Paul lamented. "Should have told him who it was and let him sort it out for himself."

"I should have told Richard to tell him," Schneider added. "He could have just done the right thing right away."

""Should have's" don't do much now," Flake pointed out. "You need to focus on what you *can* do moving forward."

"Well, what *can* we do?" asked Oli sincerely.

"He won't stay out forever. We need to get Richard back here and with some semblance of sobriety so the two can talk."

"He wasn't especially drunk when he left the bar," Schneider noted. "Unless he drank more at the girl's place, he should be all right to have serious talks tonight."

Paul held up his phone. "He says he's just down the road. We need to clean him up and get some coffee in him or something, just to wake him up. Schneider, can you take care of that?"

Schneider nodded eagerly. Paul knew he would want to help fix things as much as he could, and figured getting Richard into some semblance of sobriety would help immensely for when Till returned. It would also keep Schneider busy and less focused on his misery.

"Flake, will you let us know if Till says anything? I think he'd be most likely to speak to you."

Flake nodded. "If he comes back, I'll corral him until Richard's presentable enough to talk."

Paul rubbed his hands on his pants, a bit nervously.   
"Good. I don't like doing this as if it were preparing for a battle, but I think it's in everyone's best interests to keep them apart until they're both calmer. Did he seem especially mad when you spoke to him, Schneider?"

"No. It was bizarre; he was extremely quiet and calm. I was afraid he was going to suddenly turn and explode, but he never did."

"He's too much in his own head," Flake said, tapping on his phone. "He's just sent me a text that shows he's overthinking and bracing for the worst."

"Did he say where he is?" Paul asked hopefully.

"No."

"Damn."

Silence again. 

Schneider stopped pacing and stood with his head leaned against the glass of their back door. He remembered very vividly how, many many years prior, he'd been the one to encourage and talk up Richard, telling him to embrace the feelings he'd had for Till and follow through with them. He was still angry at himself for the fallout that had ensued. Of course he had no way of knowing Richard would self destruct, dragging Till into the mess, but he still felt wholly responsible for the incident to begin with. He was feeling the same sickly guilt now as back then. 

A car door slamming shut had everyone sitting up suddenly. After a moments, the door slowly opened to reveal a very bedraggled-looking Richard, who wobbled slightly as he walked, but was overall in control of himself and not as drunk as Paul had feared.

"Hey guys," he said quietly, closing the door behind him. Paul got up and went to him. 

"Hey yourself." Paul gave him a brief hug, then looked him over. His hair was matted to one side, his clothes disheveled with his shirt buttoned wrong. He'd not bothered with putting on eyeliner today, but what was leftover from the previous night was smudged around his eyes, giving him an exceptionally sleep-deprived, messy look. It was a stark contrast to how pristine and well put together he normally was.

"You look fucking awful," Paul said, commiserating. "Are you ok?"

Richard shrugged. "I'm drunk and don't feel well. Where's Till?"

Flake looked up from his phone. "He just texted a moment ago. He's at the strip club downtown. Apparently that's what "going out for a smoke" entails nowadays."

Richard sighed heavily, then said, a slight slur in his words, "I've royally fucked up, guys."

Everyone was quiet, silently allowing him to get off his chest what he needed to. 

"I take it everyone knows?"

They all nodded.

"Just as well. I deserve the shame of everyone knowing what a fucking idiot I am."

"Come on, Rich," Paul started to protest but Richard shook his head vehemently. 

"It's a fucking mess, and it's my fault. I have no idea how to fix it."

"Talking to him instead of drinking and avoiding him is a good start," Oli quipped. Richard hung his head as Paul shot Oli an irritated look. 

"There's nothing to be done on that front right now," Paul admonished. "You should clean up a bit, Rich. Clear your head and sober up before Till gets back. That'll make it easier for you to talk."

Schneider stepped forward and put an arm around Richard's shoulders. "Come on. I'll get some coffee for you while you get a shower."

Richard buried his head in his hands, his shoulders suddenly hitching up and recoiling from Schneider's touch. 

"No, I don't want coffee. I want to talk to Till."

Schneider glanced worriedly over at Paul. Maybe they'd mistaken how drunk Richard was. He didn't seem to be overly rational. 

Flake spoke up, talking slowly and deliberately, "Till will talk to you when he gets back. You're no good to speak to while drunk. Get some coffee or take a nap; get rid of some of the alcohol in you first."

Richard swayed a bit, seeming as though he were weighing his options. He sighed again, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. 

"I need help," he said, barely a whisper. "I can't keep fucking up like this. Please, help me."

As if on a practiced cue, everyone got up from their spots in the living room and went over to Richard, holding him in a supportive group hug. They weren't always so touchy or sentimental, despite their affinity for it in their shows, but everyone could recognize when someone was in need. Richard very clearly was.

"We're here for you," Paul murmured. "We'll help you."


	11. Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till waits even more

Till lifted a bottle to his lips and took a large drink of the sour beer. He made a face at the watery swill and set the bottle back down on the table, mildly disgusted. 

His eyes glanced over at the dancer onstage, but without interest. He didn't know why he was even here. Perhaps he'd hoped to be distracted, but it wasn't working. When the girls had come to him, offering lapdances to brighten his mood, he'd waved them away. His mood continued to sour over the course of his stay, going from numb and uncaring to a state that was best described as "foul." 

His drink was bad, the dancers were bad, his life was bad. Everything was bad. 

He was about to take yet another drink of the disgusting beer when he had a snap of realization. Why was he doing this to himself? If it was so bad, then why? 

He could argue for his masochism, that in a sick way he enjoyed feeling this bad, but that wasn't the case right now. He felt awful and acknowledged as much. 

He frowned at the half drunk beer in his hand, and then threw it suddenly at the nearby wall. It shattered, causing several of the girls to scream and stop dancing. Till was already halfway to the exit when the bouncer tried to rush over and escort him out. 

The air outside was bitterly cold, and Till felt his breath sucked from him by the chill. He hadn't drank enough to warm himself, nor had he worn appropriate winter clothes for the weather. 

Everything was bad.

Till looked down at his phone to a slew of messages. Flake had sent several, only two of which he replied to, telling him where he was and how he felt overall: bad.

Schneider had asked how he was and where he'd gone; Till ignored those. Paul had also asked the same questions, but followed up with a recent one telling him Richard had come back to the house. He ignored those as well.

Part of him wished he actually had gone to get cigarettes. At least then he'd have something that felt good for a change. Another part of him wanted to call his dealer, get the most expensive blow and whiskey his money could buy, and waste the night away, high and drunk until he stopped feeling bad. 

He wouldn't, though. Till knew it would only make the problem worse when he finally chose to address it, and he was truthfully sick of how long he'd been forced to wait thus far. 

He typed a message to Flake.

"Is Richard coherent?"

Flake responded quickly, "Give us an hour. He will be."

Till looked at the time on his phone. He needed to sit somewhere warm. This cold was too much for him. 

30 minutes later found him nursing a steaming cup of coffee in a tiny cafe not too far from his flat. He felt drained and morose, his foul mood finally morphing into one that just made him feel sad. His emotions had managed to run their own little gauntlet over the past few days, and had finally left him with despair.

Even the best case scenario that he tried to come up with ended in more heartache and an even more painfully strained relationship between the two. 

Richard was probably sorry for what he'd done-- that was fairly obvious. Or at least he felt regret, judging by his self destruction. Till felt some pity toward him at that, but that was all. He felt the guilt or whatever sorrow Richard was experiencing was justified. He deserved to feel bad. 

Till, for once, didn't deserve to feel bad. And yet here he sat.

That was the crux of his current misery, he contemplated, sipping at the bitter coffee. It was unfair. He had finally felt happy, or at the very least content for a time; and Richard had snatched that away from him. 

Till expected to feel angry at that realization, but he didn't. He felt tired and sad. He sipped again at the coffee, letting his eyes roam the shop. A peppy young man in an apron was working the counter, busily stocking rolls and grinding beans, whistling every so often as he did so. Till recalled how happy he'd been at that age as well, and it brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. 

The door to the cafe jingled as another man entered, and the boy at the counter suddenly lit up even further. Till watched as he greeted the newcomer ecstatically. Comprehension dawned on him as he saw the man rush over and happily kiss the aproned-man over the countertop. He dropped his gaze, slightly embarrassed for watching what he normally viewed as a private exchange of love between a couple. 

What was it that was so against them that couldn't seem to allow he and Richard to be as happy? Yes, they were much older than the giddy young men excitedly chatting away by the pastries, but they'd been just as young once, and presumably just as in love. Had the universe said "no" to them, cursing them to a destiny filled with desire and no fulfillment or happiness? Or was it something they'd done wrong?

Till partly knew the answer, and he grimaced as he downed the rest of his coffee. 

They didn't talk. Both he and Richard were awful at communication, unless it were about meaningless nonsense or the band. True, open, and heartfelt conversations were incredibly difficult. Till couldn't recall the last one he'd had, much less with Richard. They just weren't wired that way.

A brief thought made Till wonder whether they were better off not speaking at all about the whole mess. He'd been happy and content before, right? Richard might have been as well, if he promised not to bring it up ever again. They could slap a bandage on this festering wound and call it a day. 

With a small sigh, Till knew that would never work. It would give temporary relief, yes, just as covering a burn in butter would. But a roaring infection would follow, twice as painful and impossible to ignore any longer, lest they opted to chop off limbs.

A chuckle made him snort slightly. At least his metaphor game was as strong as ever. 

He checked the time on his phone and saw it had been nearly an hour since Flake advised him to wait. He sent another text to his friend.

"Will he speak to me now?"

Till swirled the tiny bits of coffee grounds in the remaining sludge of his coffee cup impatiently. If Flake had gone for another walk…

His phone buzzed. 

"Yes."

With a resigned nod to himself, Till stood up and began the short, freezing walk home, hopefully to conclude this painful chapter of his life.


	12. Sobered Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard gets sobered up, and Till finally comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHORT ALERT. I didn't want to cram this into the next chapter, as the next one is where it all goes down.

Flake had overseen Richard's cleanup and attempt at sobering him with militaristic efficiency. He directed Schneider to give him a freezing shower that managed to shock Richard's system into a much more sober state immediately. He'd not been as drunk as they feared, but the alcohol had compounded his depression into a sorrowful mess, and Flake wanted that at least somewhat remedied before Till got home. 

He'd gotten a text from Till after Richard's return.

"Is Richard coherent?"

Flake debated for a moment before deciding they needed more time to shape him up before the fallout.

He told Till to give them an hour.

What Flake and the others had managed to do with Richard in just an hour was both impressive and commendable, if Flake did say so himself, poking his head into Till and Oli's room. 

Richard was clean, showered and shaved, dressed comfortably, a second cup of coffee half drunk on the beside table, and was playing some intricate riffs on his guitar alongside Oli, who offered some soothing backing notes with his bass. 

It had been done in record time, which was good as he realized he'd gotten another text from what he assumed was a very anxious Till.

"Will he speak to me now?"

Flake felt a heavy sorrow in the words, and his heart was pained for his friend. He didn't deserve such misery over something so insignificant overall. It was sex, for god's sake. 

But he knew it was more than that for Till. Years of pain, unrequited or at least unacknowledged love, and an incapability from either party to sit and have frank, open discussions. It boggled Flake's mind that neither could communicate to any degree of competence.

Communication, or at least blunt honesty had always come so easily to him. While public speaking had not, thanks to his stutter, he'd still managed just fine, thank you. It was always bizarre to remember that other people didn't share his affinity for straightforward frankness.

"Yes," he'd replied to Till.

"I'll be back shortly, then."

Flake went back to the kitchen to find Schneider and Paul looking anxious over their cups of coffee. 

"Till's on his way back," Flake said, settling into a stool next to them by the kitchen counter. 

The two made noises of acknowledgement, but stayed rather worried-looking.

"It's going to be fine," Flake said, a lame attempt at comforting them. Words of comfort wasn't exactly his forte. 

"I know it'll *eventually* be fine," Paul said. "I just worry about the time right before that when it isn't."

"We can't afford any more delays for the album either," Schneider added solemnly.

"I sincerely doubt this is something that would disrupt the band's functioning," Flake said. "Even if they hate one another, they still show up and work hard."

The other two had to admit that was true. Even back when Till and Richard had broken up, the audiences and those involved with their work never knew it. They played just as well, mimicked being a happy, joking family, and were every bit the professionals they'd always been.

"Richard seems all right now?" Paul asked.

Flake nodded. "He's not completely sober, but the best we could do that quickly. He won't collapse into a puddle of guilt and tears when Till walks in, I don't think."

Schneider rubbed his head uncomfortably. "I feel like we should leave or something. It doesn't seem appropriate to hang around while they talk like that."

Flake shrugged. "It doesn't bother me."

"Surprise surprise," Paul quipped before sipping at his coffee.

Flake ignored him and continued, "I don't necessarily trust Till not to throw things, so I'm going to stay."

"Probably for the best," said Paul. "That said, I'm with Doom on this one. I think we'll step out when Till gets back, see if Oli wants to go out as well."

Flake simply shrugged again and drank his coffee.

It was only five more minutes of silence before they heard the front door. Though they all wanted to get up and go to Till, they refrained. The guitar playing from Till's room suddenly stopped.

Till trudged into the kitchen, where Flake greeted him with a short nod of his head as the others awkwardly kept their eyes down. 

He looked so tired and weather beaten, Flake thought. His cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold, and his eyes were a bit watery as well. Perhaps he'd been crying.

"Richard is in your room. I think Oli, Paul, and Schneider are going to step out for a bit. I'll be heating up the soup, if you both want any."

Till nodded, but it was a distant, vacant nod that showed his mind was elsewhere. 

Paul and Schneider took Flake's words as their cue to leave, and they both patted Till's shoulder and back as they left the kitchen to gather their coats. Oli emerged from his room with his bass, smiled encouragingly in Till's direction, and then followed his friends out the front door.

"Flake," Till said quietly after the rest had gone.

"Hmm?"

Till paused for a moment, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. 

"I don't want to do this."

Flake was silent until Till uncomfortably met his gaze.

"It doesn't matter what you want," Flake insisted, his eyes kind but firm behind his glasses. "You have to. You know that."

Till shifted his feet miserably. 

"Go on. It's not going to get better until you talk. It *will* get better, männlein." Flake put a hand on Till's shoulder as the man smiled halfheartedly at the diminutive nickname. "I promise it will. You just have to start it and go from there."

Till straightened his slumped shoulders with a large inhale, then breathed out with a massive sigh. 

"Ja. Here goes nothing, I suppose."

"That's the spirit," Flake called after him. 

They would be fine, he was sure.


	13. Finality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two finally have their long-awaited, much-feared talk.

Till opened his door to find an impossibly wide eyed Richard sitting on his bed, his favorite guitar on his lap. His black-nailed fingers were pressed on a chord, trembling as he stared up at him like a wild animal caught by a flashlight's beam at night. He looked absolutely terrified.

Till sighed. "Relax, Rich. I'm not angry."

Richard's face didn't relax in the slightest. Till walked over and the man stiffened, his grip on his guitar tightening. 

"Enough, Richard; knock it off. I said I'm not angry."

He held his hand out to the man. "Give me the guitar." 

Richard pulled it even closer to him, protectively, as a child would with a blanket or toy.

"For fuck's sake; look, I'm not going to hurt it. I just want you to relax and set it down."

Till realized his tone had grown irritated, and was probably not helping the situation. He looked up at the ceiling desperately and prayed to a god he didn't believe in for help. He clearly had no idea what he was doing. 

He squatted down on the floor by the bed, making himself appear smaller as he sat back on his heels. He was now looking up at Richard's tense face, only a few feet away. He could still smell a lingering scent of alcohol on the man's heavy breath, but it was mixed with the pungent smells of coffee and aftershave. Flake had cleaned him up well.

"Richard, you're not a child. Set the guitar down." He gave his friend a pleading look. "Please. I won't touch it."

Richard ever so slowly unfolded himself from the guitar and laid it down on the floor beside the bed. Till nodded encouragingly. 

Richard was left with nothing to cling to, so he instead folded his arms tightly over his chest and avoided Till's gaze.

Looking at his friend so afraid and lost wounded Till in his soul. What must Richard think of him as a person to be so scared of him? Was he truly that terrified of him?

He swallowed painfully as his eyes threatened to become teary. He bit his tongue and willed the tears away by force. He didn't need to cry in front of Richard. He needed communication.

"Richard, you have to speak. I swear to you I'm not angry. I just want you to talk to me."

Richard's chin trembled for the tiniest moment, but he gathered himself with a large breath.

"Where do you want me to start?" he asked, his voice not much above a whisper.

"How did you find my ad?" Till figured getting the semantics of what had happened out of the way would help Richard to calm down and start talking better than if Till demanded deeper answers first.

Richard scratched at his arm uncomfortably without releasing it from its crossed position over his chest. He began in a slow, deliberate tone, "You left the page up on the computer. I read it because I was curious, and you're the only one here that has any interest in that type of BDSM." He chanced a look down at Till's face, testing whether he would be true to his word about not being mad.

Till sighed, annoyed at himself for his lack of discretion, but it was visible even to a very skittery Richard that he was still not angry. "I should have figured as much," Till said, rolling his eyes at himself. "You knew it was me when you were there the first time."

Richard nodded, slowly and carefully, watching Till's face intensely now for reactions. "I waited for you to leave, and just followed a few minutes behind. I'd picked up some new clothes and gloves I knew you wouldn't recognize."

"So, you had intended to keep yourself secret from the beginning?"

Till saw another flash of fear across Richard's features, followed quickly by blatant guilt. Till kept his own face very neutral, despite his conflicting emotions.

"I'm sorry," Richard whispered faintly, shame covering his words.

Till waved a hand dismissively and said quickly, "We'll get to that shit later. I just want to hear your side of it all first." 

Richard swallowed. "What else do you want to know?"

"Why did you keep coming?"

"I told you I would, in the emails, for the weeks that we were here."

"I don't mean why were you there specifically; I mean why did you *keep* coming there? After you did it the first time, why did you come back? Did you like it?"

Richard looked supremely uncomfortable and squirmed on the bed, his gaze back to avoiding Till's.

"Answer me."

Richard looked down at the man on the floor because of Till's stern command, meeting his eyes worriedly.  
"…yes," he admitted hesitantly.

"And when you got good at it after I taught you, when you kept coming back, did you want to do it to others, or was it just with me? Look at me when you talk to me, Rich." His voice was stern but his gaze was cool and neutral.

Richard obeyed. "It was just you."

Till continued, afraid if he stopped his questions he'd lose his nerve in asking them, as well as Richard's compliance in answering. 

"And that last day, did you come to me planning it, or did it just happen?"

"Till, I'm sorry, I don't know--"

"Answer me," Till said flatly. He would leave no room for deflection or stalling.

Richard's mouth opened, then closed with a nervous swallow, then opened again, suddenly releasing a flood of words, nearly stumbling over them in his hurry:  
"I wanted it. I didn't think I would do it until I was there, and you were there, and I saw you in front of me, and I couldn't stop thinking of you and everything I'd regretted from the past, and how I'd fucked everything up so badly, and I didn't want to keep regretting what I'd done and not done, and I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I'm so sorry, Till, god, I am so, so, so fucking sorry, I'm sorry…"

Richard buried his face in his hands, and while he wasn't crying, his shoulders hitched and trembled as he shook his head.

Till inhaled deeply, then released his breath. He needed one final question from the man before he allowed him to succumb to his guilt, however that would play out.

"Richard, what are you sorry about? I need to know: why exactly are you sorry? Do you regret doing it? Do you regret the secrecy? Tell me specifically."

Richard looked up in slight confusion.  
"What-- what do you mean? Everything, I'm sorry for everything."

"No," Till said with a sigh, standing to his feet. His knees were hurting him. "That's not an answer. What exactly are you sorry for? I can't speak for you."

Richard's face scrunched a bit, a mix of slight confusion and continued anxiety and fear.

"I'm not sure..." he said.

"That's not true either. Think, Richard. What is it that's making you feel badly? That's what I want to know. That's what you need to realize and tell me."

Realization dawned on Richard, and Till saw it the instant it hit him. Richard looked up at him, and Till could swear he saw an army of emotions and reactions marching through the man's eyes. Till braced for the answer he both feared and knew was coming. Richard did indeed regret it all, both the act and the secrecy. He didn't want Till that way, or any way, and he'd made a mistake, as he said. He'd simply followed his lust, as he did with all the women and men he'd bedded over the years. Till had been a casual lay, and worse yet, a *mistake.*

Till felt his heart shattering all over again, a heart he was sure he'd abandoned years ago.

Richard suddenly reached out to him, startling Till. He stepped back before realizing what Richard was doing. Richard was holding his hand out, palm up toward Till. 

"Richard--" Till warned, giving a worried, sideways look at the man. He couldn't handle empty sympathy, and he knew he would lose his composure quickly.

Richard stayed, hand outheld. Till fought a war in his head for several long moments, before taking Richard's hand and sitting down on the bed next to him. Richard let go of his hand, looked down for a moment, then met his wary gaze evenly.

"I don't regret sleeping with you," Richard said abruptly. He'd abandoned his earlier fear and replaced it with solid determination, one that suprised Till.

Till started protesting without even thinking, sure that Richard was simply telling him what he wanted to hear, to save his feelings because he was afraid, but Richard interrupted him with a shake of his head. 

"Shut up. You got to ask your questions, and you wanted me to answer, so I'm answering now, truthfully."

Till closed his mouth, still worried. He refused to allow the hope in his gut to grow any bigger than the anxiety already rising in him.

"I don't regret the act of sleeping with you," Richard continued. "I do regret that it took weeks of me lying to you for it to happen. I'm a fucking coward, and I'll always regret that I couldn't come to you and tell you what I wanted, to let our first time, if you even wanted it at all, to be special. I regret that I can't go back and try again, to ask you for what I want."

He dropped his eyes and fiddled with a button on his sleeve.  
"I regret that you probably wouldn't accept me ever again because of it. But I don't regret the time I spent with you."

Till had no words. He simply stared at Richard, his eyes searching everywhere on the man's face for any sign of lying or teasing or desire to hurt him again. 

He found none of that; only firm truth. 

He still had no words, and he was afraid if he opened his mouth, he would wake up from a self-indulgent dream, or say something perfectly awful to push Richard away in fear. 

Richard seemed to deflate at Till's silence.  
"I understand that you won't want anything I offer. I don't blame you. I'd hate me as well. But if there were anything, and I mean *anything,* I could do to make things right, Till, please tell me. I know that's an impossible thing to ask, I just--"  
He pressed the heel of his hand against one of his tired eyes and rubbed hard. "I just want things to be right again, and I can't accept your saying "nothing," like I know you're about to."

He had to admit Richard was more perceptive than he expected. He had been about to dismiss him, insisting he didn't need to make anything up. He still didn't feel angry at the man, and recognized he'd simply been afraid to approach him, due to his previous rebuffs. 

But now Till had another problem on his hands. Richard wouldn't be satisfied with Till ignoring or dismissing the request for penance. He himself knew the power of self inflicted punishments for misdeeds, more than most.

An idea suddenly grabbed him, but he would wait just a bit to broach it. 

"Richard, I could never hate you," he began, putting a gentle hand on his friend's leg. Richard didn't flinch at the contact, which Till found encouraging. "I know this was a misstep for you, and obviously you should have told me. Who knows what would have happened if you just asked me? I'm not an impossible man, and yes, we've had our issues, but if it was just about the sex, I'd likely have said yes."

Richard cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Shit, he'd overstepped. Till removed his hand in a hurry and quickly amended his statement, "But what's done is done. I do not hate you and I do not have any remaining ill will. I'm a little hurt, but it's nothing I'm not used to, and it will ease in time."

Richard still looked extremely uncomfortable, and Till mentally kicked himself. He'd taken advantage by mentioning a possible relationship, even just a sexual one, and he'd scared Richard off again. He went to stand up, smiling kindly but sadly at his friend as he did so.

Richard grabbed his hand insistently. Till turned and winced, not wanting to drag this on any longer. It was painful enough already.

"Richard..." he warned again. There was only so long he could be forced to stare at the man's liquid turquoise eyes without falling apart, and he was rapidly reaching that limit.

"Please stay," Richard asked plainly. "Just for a bit longer."

"Why? There's nothing left to discuss." Till tried to gently tug his hand away, but Richard's grasp held firm

Richard's face became determined, his brow slightly furrowed as he stared up at Till. 

"Till, I want more with you."

His heart had stopped, surely, was Till's only thought. That was why he'd heard what he did, it was the only explanation. He was having a heart attack, and anything he heard was a hallucination from lack of blood flow.

"I'm sick of being too cowardly to ask for what I want, and it stops now," Richard said firmly. "Whether you accept that or not, I can't speak for you, and I don't blame you if you say no, but I'll be damned if I let one more agonizing day go by where I'm not honest with myself about everything. I love you, Till. I've loved you for God knows how long, and I wish I'd not fucked us over so horribly way back when." 

Richard was tugging at his hand, begging him with his eyes to sit down. Till allowed himself to sit, still in silent shock.

"I know I don't deserve another chance, and I've likely lost whatever chance I might have had with this new cowardice. But I wanted to tell you, at least this once, how I feel."

He pored over Till's face with his eyes desperately, but Till still didn't react. Richard shook his head.  
"I'm so sorry, for all of my cowardice and lies. I just wanted you to know what was hiding behind it all."

Another long moment of silence as Richard held his breath and waited for Till's response, but there was nothing. He sighed finally, and stood up himself. 

"Thank you for letting me tell you, Till. I'm truly sorry. I won't bring it up again."

He walked to the door, his head hung low. As his hand touched it, he started when he heard Till getting up from the bed. He half expected Till to open the door for him, to show him out as he deserved, no more than an unwelcome guest in his room. 

But Till stood in front of him, silently, looking down at his eyes with an intense look that Richard couldn't decipher. Why were the man's eyes so confusing?

"Do you mean it?" Till asked hoarsely, his voice catching in his throat. "Do you mean what you said?"

Richard simply nodded. 

Till took a breath, stared even harder at him, then with a hand that reached out to cup Richard's chin, pulled it up to meet his lips in a kiss. 

Richard felt swallowed in the moment; all his anxiety, fears, sadness, desperation, all swept away in the feeling of comfort that engulfed him. Before he could fully appreciate the moment, Till had drawn back, his eyes still infuriatingly intense. Richard stayed still, mouth half open and eyes partly closed, begging silently for the man to continue, but Till released him and stepped back.

"I love you too," Till said simply. Richard felt his stomach leap in happiness, and he wanted to laugh in relief, but Till still had a steady, guarded look about him. That grounded Richard, and the feeling of guilt quickly surrounded him again. 

Till tilted his head slightly.  
"We function the same way sometimes," he said cryptically. "I've known you long enough to understand that. I know you won't feel right until you've done something to ease your conscience, despite anything I should say to the contrary."

Richard knew the sinking feeling in his gut was agreeing with the man. He couldn't pursue anything with Till without showing the man he was sorry, truly sorry, whatever that took. 

"Do you trust me?" Till suddenly asked. 

Richard stared hard at his friend.  
"Yes."

"Good," Till nodded. "Then I have an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be some sort of marathon writing record for me, dear readers xD I am EXHAUSTED. But so, so happy with how it's turned out so far. I hope this comes as a satisfying chapter to everyone whose breath was held.


	14. My Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till's proposal involves a role reversal. Richard isn't sure about it at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SMUT AHOY, CAPTAIN*

He'd been forced to wait for long enough already, so Till didn't make Richard wait for his little idea.

"I want to top you," he'd said bluntly.

Richard had blanched at Till's explicit proposal.  
"What, Till, I-- what?" His cheeks blushed a deep crimson that Till found cute.

"I want to top you." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You had your way with me. You can make it up to me by allowing me the same courtesy. After that, we'll be back to normal."

Richard sputtered a bit, ran his hand through his hair, then stuck his hands under his armpits and frowned at Till, gaguing whether the man was serious or not.

"Are you joking?" he finally asked in disbelief.

Till shook his head. "No. There's nothing I want in the realm of self-sacrifice or penance from you, but you'll not let yourself feel better until you "atone" for what you've done. This is all I can think of that would satisfy us both."  
Till chuckled as he said the word "satisfy," causing Richard to roll his eyes at the terrible pun.

"I'm being serious, Till."

"And so am I."

Richard frowned at him, still expecting Till to burst out laughing, telling him he'd fallen for an elaborate prank or somesuch. 

"So, what, you get to "top" me," he made quotation marks with his fingers, "and we'll be good again? Just like that?"

"Yes."

Richard blinked at him. "And if I want more than that?"

Till folded his arms and shrugged. "I've not thought that far ahead, but I don't see why not, so long as we communicate properly. Just have to do this first."

The shorter man frowned again, staring hard at him for a long moment, but Till's face remained stoic and serious.

"All right, I guess," Richard finally said, throwing his hands in the air in defeat.

Till raised his pierced eyebrow at him. "You guess?"

Richard started pacing the bedroom. Till also found this awkward behavior cute.

"Well, yes, I suppose it could work."

Till smiled broadly and pushed, "You suppose?"

"My god Till, yes, I agree, okay? It sounds hot, and you are absolutely the worst." Richard had stayed the cute shade of red that Till was finding terribly endearing. 

"Good. I'll text Flake to take a walk too, then."

Richard stopped pacing and his eyes widened. "What? Wait wait wait, you mean right now? Fuck, Till, after all that? You don't want to sleep on it, or let some time pass or go somewhere else, or--"

Till had finished his text. He stood up and walked briskly to the door.  
"No, I don't. Thank you for asking, though; very considerate."

Till smirked as he locked the door, and then stalked back over to Richard, who had suddenly turned into someone who looked very, very small. 

He began to stutter again, shrinking back a bit as Till walked directly up to him.

"Um, we don't have anything ready, or--"

Till leaned down, forcing Richard to stop talking and pull back slightly as he lowered his face inches from Richard's.

"I have everything we need," he murmured.

Richard swallowed thickly, but didn't move.

"Say the word and I'll stop," he offered, giving Richard an easy out. He wasn't a monster despite his desire, and if Richard still held any hesitations, he wanted him to feel as though he could pull back at any time, just as Richard had done for him in the hotel. "We can even reschedule if you like."

Without warning, Till snaked his hand around Richard's back and yanked his body flush with his own. "Just tell me," he purred in Richard's ear, grazing it with his teeth. 

Richard whimpered suddenly, his body flinching away from Till's tickling mouth. Till caught his hips firmly with his hands, not allowing the man to slide away.

Richard muttered something.

"Say again, pet?" Till encouraged, rubbing a small circle along the small of Richard's back with one of his thumbs.

"I don't want to stop," Richard breathed.

Till chuckled, and it was his turn to say, "Good."

He hauled Richard's hips to meet his own as he firmly pressed his lips to Richard's. 

Richard moaned into the kiss, kicking Till's arousal into high gear. He pushed his tongue into Richard's wanting mouth, earning him another moan from the younger man. Till grunted in pleasure, pulling Richard's full hips into him once more, rolling his own hips to grind against him. 

The man's firm length was already apparent through his sweatpants, and Till savored the feel against his own slacks. He was working up his own erection, stiffening even more quickly as he felt Richard's hips eagerly grinding into his as well. 

He flipped Richard around and pushed him against the wall. The noise Richard made when Till pressed against his back made Till's blood boil with lust, and he thrust hard against the man's backside impetuously. Richard's hands splayed at the wall, bracing himself. He was already breathing heavily and his pants weren't even off yet. 

Till took a deep breath and pulled back slightly. He wanted this, so badly-- almost too badly. He needed to calm down before he made a mistake and hurt Richard in his eagerness. 

He closed his eyes and released Richard. The dark-haired man looked back in confusion. Till stepped back and gestured for him to follow him to the bed. 

Till sat him down gently and climbed up next to him, sliding his hands around the man again. At Richard's questioning look, Till explained, "Our first time wasn't as intimate as I'd have preferred. I want this time to make up for it."

He leaned in and kissed Richard again, passionately, deeply. Richard again felt himself enveloped by the warmth and emotion. He sighed and melted in Till's embrace. Till smiled in the middle of the kiss, and nearly felt ashamed at how happy he felt. 

No, this was good, he reminded himself. He was allowed to feel happy. He was allowed to love and feel loved in return.

It was good.

Richard's hand strayed to Till's lap, causing Till to shudder.

It was *very* good. 

Till groaned as Richard's pawing at his crotch solidified into a grasp at his bulge. As strong as his desire was to let Richard take what he wanted, he needed to follow his initial decision and give Richard the same as he'd taken the first time. It would be therapeutic for Richard and instrumental for himself, he reasoned. He needed a good session as a dominant. It had been far too long.

With that in mind, he put his hand on Richard's hand and removed it from his crotch. Richard made a questioning noise, but Till shushed him. 

"Relax," he cooed in Richard's ear, making the man shiver as he slid around behind him. He stuck his legs out on either side of Richard's body, pulling him back to sit between his legs. 

Till nuzzled at the back of Richard's neck against his hairline, making Richard shiver pleasantly. The man was so *sensitive*, Till noted. He liked that.

Till held him close as he let his hands roam up Richard's front, one sliding beneath the shirt to stroke his pecs and stomach. Richard didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and was continually shivering and flinching as Till gently grazed sensitive areas of Richard's skin with his nails. 

He released a breathy chuckle against his friend's neck, and slid his tongue experimentally across it, following the short hairs down the side of his neck. 

Richard outright shook from the sensation. "Fuck, Till," he heard him blurt as he lapped at the man's earlobe playfully, earning a combination of a gasp and a moan from him.

While part of him wanted to command the man to be quiet, as he'd had to endure, Till's own body responded heartily to hearing the man's vocalizations, so he decided he wanted them to continue. He bit gently at Richard's ear at the same time as his hand strayed to the waistband of the man's sweatpants, earning him another breathy gasp and arching of the man's body into him.

"Why are you so good at this?" Richard groaned as Till dragged his fingers painfully slowly under the waistband of his pants, forcing him to squirm at the touch. 

Till simply smiled and placed a kiss against the back of Richard's neck, then slid his hand completely into Richard's pants. Immediately his fingers bumped against Richard's hot erection, and the man stiffened underneath him, holding his breath. 

A moment of debate, then Till simply ran the backs of his fingers down the soft, heated length once, and then removed his hand from Richard's pants. 

Richard's disappointment was palpable, and he made a disgruntled noise that had Till nearly laughing in pity.

He tutted at Richard as he sat back to change their position. 

"In time, in time," he soothed, leaning back to haul his shirt off. Their flat was plenty warm, combined with their dual body heat. He gestured for Richard to do the same, admiring the man's torso as he did so. Richard had always had full pecs and hips, ones that Till always thought to be irresistible, but it was the not-so subtle curve of the man's back, accentuating both his chest and ass that Till found drove him wild. Till scooted to the edge of the bed, and motioned for Richard to come sit on his lap. Richard moved to take his pants off, but Till caught his wrists and shook his head, gently pulling him into his lap with a kiss.

Richard sat, his knees folded on either side of Till's broad hips and kissed back eagerly. Till's hands rubbed along Richard's back, savoring the feel of the soft, supple skin beneath them.

Richard had gained a little confidence with his hands, and was running one up along Till's thick bicep to his scarred shoulder. His fingers stuttered a bit as they hit his scars, and Till felt a pang of shame. But Richard then rubbed them eagerly, running fingers along the divets and ragged scar tissue as if they were an exciting trail to be discovered.

Till's shame eased at that, and he kissed the man twice as fervently. As he pressed his tongue into Richard's mouth, he felt a tell-tale throb from his partner's dick that was pressed into his thigh. He grinned as he pulled back from the kiss, and then bucked his hips hard up into Richard's, ensuring the man felt his own hardness pressing at him. Richard made a sharp moan, and then grabbed Till's face with both hands, forcing his own tongue into Till's mouth. He grinded against him hard in time with the harsh intertwining of their tongues, causing Till to growl in pleasure. 

Till forced himself to stop and pull back once more, catching his breath as he marveled at the dark lust in Richard's eyes that mirrored his own. So this was the beautiful picture of desire he'd been missing that first time.

Richard's face had grown a flushed red, evenly disbursed across his mottled cheeks. His lips were shiny with the saliva they'd been exchanging, and his mouth hung slightly open as he panted. His eyes, barely containing the lust Till could see was so evident, were slightly lidded but still very intensely focused on him. 

Till rumbled in pure appreciation of the man's sexiness. Richard looked bashful for a brief moment under Till's obvious lustful gaze, endearing himself to Till even more.

"Come here," he said, gesturing for Richard to lay down on the bed. A brief look of worry flitted across the man's face, but Till dismissed it with a quick, comforting peck on the man's lips.

"Don't worry, Scholle," he soothed, laying Richard back onto the bed. He kissed his way deftly down the man's heaving chest, much to Richard's immediate pleasure. 

"So sensitive," Till murmured as he left the tiniest, gentlest love nip on Richard's left hip. The man still grabbed at Till's head and jerked his hips at the feeling, making Till grin. He sat up, and with a movement quicker than Richard could prepare for, he yanked the man's sweatpants off and tossed them to the floor.

Richard lay wide-eyed and exposed on the bed, a sight Till found outrageously intoxicating. His dick was picture perfect: a bit reddened, thick, and a slight curve in it that made it even more appealing. Just before Till went to work, he eyeballed Richard and said, "Lest you think you're in control here, I want your hands to stay put."  
He looked pointedly at Richard's hands that had grabbed the blanket up on either side of his own head. Richard was confused for only a moment before realization hit him. He nodded eagerly at Till and gripped the blanket more firmly, arms raised and holding steady.

"Good."

With that, Till settled himself between the man's legs and pulled Richard into his mouth with no hesitation. The strangled cry that left Richard's throat was something that would be pleasantly burned in Till's memory for a very, very long time. One hand held Richard's hips firmly down to keep him from squirming, and the other gently held the base of the man's dick as Till worked hard and fast with his mouth. His eyes flicked up to see Richard's face an ever-conflicted combination of arousal and overstimulation. Till was quite proud of his oral skills, on both men and women, and seeing his handiwork in action across the face of his partner made his own arousal multiply. 

He moaned on Richard's dick, eliciting another choked cry as the man tried to press his hips up. Till denied him, holding him down easily with his upper body weight. He was in control here; not Richard. He bobbed his head, occasionally angling it for good measure, keeping a fast and consistent pace. Richard's hips fought under him, but he held him steady.

A hand grasping weakly at the back of his head alerted him that Richard had already forgotten his agreement. Till immediately removed his mouth from Richard's cock and grabbed his hand.

Richard's eyes flew open and he looked down. Till slowly crawled his way back up the bed, body hovering over Richard's until they were eye to eye. 

Richard shivered at the intense look Till gave him. 

Till placed Richard's hand very deliberately back on the blanket and stared at him for another moment. 

"Stay," Till finally growled low at him. 

Richard nodded obediently.

Till narrowed his eyes a bit, then nodded. After another brief peck on the slightly worried man's lips, he resumed his earlier place between Richard's legs and went back to work.

Richard's entire body immediately tensed back up, and he began panting hard at Till relentless pace. After a minute, he sat back again, this time to a saddened whimper from Richard who'd not finished yet. Till wiped his mouth, pausing to smile at the mess of a man he'd created beneath him.

"Take a breath, Rich," he advised. "We're just getting started."

He reached to his bedside table and grabbed a bottle of lube. He chuckled at Richard's perpetually wide eyes.

"You can speak, you know," Till offered as he uncapped the bottle. "I didn't forbid you from that."

"What, um…" Richard stammered a bit. "What are you going to do?"

Richard was so adorable when he was both aroused and excited.

"I'm going to get you off first, to relax you," Till stated in an almost clinical manner as he applied the lube to his fingers. "And while doing so, I'm going to prepare you for me."

Richard stiffened a bit at that.

"I'm a bit bigger than you, leibling," Till explained, capping the lube back and setting it aside. "You need a little more than spit."

Till adjusted back down between the man's legs, but instead of holding a hip down this time, he pulled one of Richard's knees up, giving him better access, and a lovely view, he noted. Even the man's balls were attractive, he thought, a bit awed. 

He focused on the task at hand, and wrapped his mouth around Richard's cock again. Richard stiffened yet again, then relaxed with an exhale as Till slowed his pace slightly. Just as Richard released his tension, Till took the opportunity to slide just one finger into Richard. He felt the man tense, as expected, and a tiny note of pain laced his gasp.

Till pulled his mouth from Richard's dick to soothe him. "Relax, relax," he cooed, kissing Richard's thigh comfortingly. "It will feel good in a moment, I promise."

True to his word, Richard soon stopped feeling the discomfort of the finger and was able to focus on the pleasant stretching and stroking Till was doing. His mouth and tongue went back to Richard's cock as well, further distracting him from any brief pain or discomfort. He barely even noticed the second and third fingers as Till gradually increased the speed and intensity of his sucking. He eventually had three fingers pumping gently at him, one hand massaging the man's balls, and his head bobbing fervently with Richard's cock continually hitting and even slipping right into the back of Till's throat. 

Richard was a writhing mess, but his hands stayed wrapped in and gripping the blanket by his head.

Richard's grunting suddenly shifted pitches, and Till felt his balls tighten under his hand as he pulled him back into his throat.

"Till, stop--!" Richard tried to gasp out, but Till did no such thing. He pressed his three fingers deeper, while simultaneously swallowing on Richard's flexing cock. It throbbed and began ejaculating down Till's throat. Richard's hips bucked in time with his high-pitched moans. Till held steady, swallowing Richard's cum appreciatively. 

When he was finished, Richard flinched away from Till's mouth, over-sensitive beyond belief. This time, Till allowed him to pull away. He removed his fingers as well, wiping them on the blanket.

Till sat up, and as he removed his very constricting pants, he gazed lovingly down at the puddle of a man he'd created. Richard dragged his eyes up to meet Till's, and he shakily rubbed a hand across his face to wipe away the small droplets of sweat. 

Richard was beautiful, Till decided. And they weren't done yet.


	15. The First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard pays Till back in full, and Till is suprised to learn some of Richard's past.

"I can't believe-- so fucking good-- jesus, fuck, Lindemann," Richard enthused, his shaky hand in his hair. With a smug smile, Till busied himself coating his own erection in lube, watching with strong enjoyment as Richard slowly descended from the high of his orgasm. Till was not an overly cocky man-- and in fact had some severely crippling self doubts and insecurities-- but he knew his strengths, and decades of hard work in the bedroom had resulted in one of his biggest strengths: giving pleasure to those he cared for.

"You can top me any fucking day of the week," Richard said with an amazed shake of his head, sitting himself up. With his free hand, Till reached over and planted a firm palm on Richard's chest, pushing him right back down.

"Not done," he said correctively, his mind preoccupied as he stroked himself and raked his eyes up and down Richard's naked body. Richard's eyes widened yet again as he remembered what Till had said earlier about "relaxing and preparing" him first. The man had an impressively short memory when sex was clouding it, Till realized.

Till bit his lip and had to fight very hard to stop stroking himself so tightly, eager for release as he'd just given Richard. But he knew he'd be worlds more satisfied to wait, so he stopped after one more liberal coating of lube down his hefty cock. Richard's eyes were trained on him in fascination, and Till realized Richard had not seen him masturbate when they'd been together. 

With a smirk, Till leaned his shoulders back a bit, one hand gripping his dick tightly and showing off for the man. He wasn't a Greek god or anything, of course, but he knew well and good the imposingly sexual figure he could appear to be when he was fully aroused. He was not a small man, and had been complimented many, many times on his bulk, both above and below the belt.

The burning in Richard's eyes and the thickening once again of the man's dick both confirmed his supposition and stroked his ego. Till made a show of working himself very slowly, then made his cock bob a bit when his hand fell flush with his body. A drip of precum slid down the length to join the slick lube he'd applied. Richard's eyes followed the drip with rapt attention, his head raised up off the bed, and Till saw his legs shuffle a bit as he continued to get harder.

"Do you like it?" Till murmured, giving his cock another small shake.

Till thought Richard's neck might snap from how quickly and eagerly the man nodded. 

"Go on, say it," Till encouraged, savoring the attention as he flexed his pelvic muscles, causing his dick to throb visibly in his hand. It was a trick he'd learned when he was younger, and it never failed to impress.

Richard swallowed thickly at the sight. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I like it." Richard swallowed again, much to Till's delight.

"Good," he purred, then crawled atop Richard until their bodies were flush with one another. He drew up his knees, to pull some of his weight off Richard, but allowed his shaft to press against the man's inner thigh comfortably. 

Richard made a pleased noise as Till stroked his hair affectionately. He then leaned in to kiss him, realizing he'd never get enough of the man's taste on his lips and in his mouth, regardless of where his lips ventured. 

Richard was absolutely intoxicating. 

Their mouths worked in tandem for a moment, and Till was especially glad to feel Richard attempting to hump his own erection against Till's thigh, already fully bounced back from his previous orgasm.

Very slowly, Till began to slide his dick against Richard's leg, inching it downward with each small thrust against him. Richard kissed him back hungrily and Till admired his stamina. Some men were disappointingly one-and-done, and it was nice to learn Richard was not part of them.

Till eventually was hitting Richard's ass with the tip of his dick, causing the man beneath him to stiffen again and cling to his shoulders. Till smiled gently and resumed kissing, easing the man into simply feeling his girth near his hole. He had all night after all. No reason to rush. 

A thought suddenly occured to him, and he paused making out, sitting back a bit.

"Rich, have you never bottomed before?"

Richard's eyes fluttered open, slightly disoriented by the sudden question.  
"What?"

"Have you never been a bottom?"

"I mean, I've been with men before, but--"

"Not what I asked. Have you had a dick in your ass or not?"

Richard blushed at the directness of the question, but his confidence and comfort with Till had grown to where he felt slightly less ashamed answering.  
"No, not exactly."

Till rolled his eyes at the deflection. "You either have or you haven't. I mean, I guess if you've had a dildo inside you that counts as well, but--"

"No, I haven't, all right?" Richard interrupted Till's explicit clarification. "I've had nothing inside me. I've not bottomed."

Till was a bit suprised. Richard hadn't struck him as the overly dominant type, except with women and barring the Sundays he'd spent with Till. 

"So, what *have* you done with men?"

Richard laid his head back and avoided Till's questioning look.  
"Um, I've jerked men off," he briefly met Till's gaze, and Till nodded in recollection, "I've made out a few times, and well..." he trailed off and bit his lip. 

Till's eyes widened. "Was I your first?"

A small apologetic smile creeped onto Richard's face. "Yes. It wasn't something I knew I truly wanted until I spent time with you."

"I don't mean to bring up shit from the past, but that night in the hotel with the man in your bed..?"

Richard shook his head. "I got in such a bad mood after you left, and felt so guilty and horrible that I kicked him out. We never did anything."

"Well. That's not what I expected at all."

Richard looked apologetic and worried again. "Does that make you upset? Do you not want me?"

Till laughed aloud suddenly, startling Richard beneath him.

"Of course not, Richard. Don't be stupid. Obviously I still want you. I only ask so I know how to prepare you." He laughed again, pleasantly suprised at the news. 

Richard pouted a bit. "I'm not stupid. I just don't know what I'm doing."

Till inclined his head. "You certainly had me fooled on Sunday. You did extraordinarily well for your first time."

"I… I watched a lot of videos," Richard admitted, his cheeks again flushing with embarrassment.

Till chuckled again at the thought of Richard studying gay porn.

"Well, regardless, you did just fine. I enjoyed myself, and I intend for you to do likewise. Come," he gestured for Richard to put up his knees.

The lube on Till's cock had mostly dried, so he reached for the bottle again. Knowing Richard was so unused to everything, he decided to retry his earlier preparation technique. He leaned forward and began giving Richard head again, rubbing his thigh and gently reinserting his fingers one by one. Richard was much less tense after knowing what to expect, and he didn't make the pained noises he had the first time.

After deciding Richard was as prepared as he could be without cumming for a second time (Till didn't want to press his luck with a third rebound), he pulled his fingers out and released Richard from his mouth with a satisfied pop.

Richard was spread eagle atop the mattress, sweaty and breathing heavily, his hair mussed from tossing his head back and forth from Till's ministrations below his waist.  
Till hadn't bothered to hold down his hips or restrict his hand movement, so his own hair was wild and ruffled from Richard's eager hands running through it as he'd been sucking him.

Till re-applied the lube to himself, tempted to force Richard to watch him once more, but his desire to have Richard overpowered him. 

He slid up to the man, moving his legs up to position his length beneath his ass. 

Till held the tip of his cock to Richard's hole, ever so gently pressing. Richard stiffened, but Till leaned down and kissed him, rumbling encouragement as he rocked gently back and forth. Richard relaxed a bit, and the very first bit of Till pressed inside him with his small movements. Richard started to arch his back, but Till held him firm and continued kissing, each push at the man pressing just a bit more inside. Richard started panting, and Till couldn't tell whether he were in too much pain or not. 

"Too much, Liebes?" he asked.

Richard stubbornly shook his head and Till smiled. "It'll get better quickly. Just keep relaxed for me."

Till continued his back and forth, as gently as he could manage. Richard felt heavenly, tight and hot with each centimeter he pressed inside, but he restrained himself from going too quickly for Richard's sake. He kissed and pressed, pressed and kissed.

"Halfway there, scholle, you're doing so, so well Rich," Till continued to mutter encouragment in Richard's ear. Till could tell at this point that continuing slowly might end up more painful than simply getting it over with. 

He kissed Richard again, but right as he went to press in again, he bit Richard's lip. This small amount of pain served to distract him as Till slid the rest of his length in simultaneously, pressing flush to Richard's ass. He moaned into Richard's mouth at the feeling of being enveloped by the man, as Richard gasped in tandem. Till sat, stunned by the pleasure of simply holding himself inside Richard, and his cock throbbed a bit. The strangled noise that Richard uttered made Till want to cum right then and there, but he held off.

"How does it feel?" Till asked breathlessly, holding steady inside the man.

Richard moaned in response, loud and long, and clenched on Till's cock. Till grunted at the tightness, again fighting himself for control. It wouldn't do to lose himself so quickly, though he anticipated it would be slightly more brief than he was used to in order to save Richard unnecessary soreness.

"Does it feel good?" Till insisted, wanting to hear the man as he began to slowly pull back and pump into him. 

Richard's eyes rolled back to the ceiling and his hands clung to Till's biceps. 

"…fuck, yes… fuck," he said with each push inside him. Till nuzzled at Richard's neck as he thrusted, determined to make Richard feel as good and comfortable as possible. He kissed Richard's neck, moved his way up to his chin, his lips, his cheeks; every bit of his face he covered in loving kisses. 

He slowly increased the pace of his thrusts, taking care to watch and listen to Richard the whole way. As soon as he sensed Richard was far more aroused than tense, he began to move and angle Richard's legs and his own cock as he thrusted, aiming specifically for…

Richard's eyes widened with a throaty cry. 

"There," Till whispered as he pulled back and pushed again at the same spot. He felt his dick slide against Richard's most sensitive internal nub and the man arched his body in pleasure. 

"My god, fuck, Till!" he exclaimed, his legs tensing and moving as well. "How the fuck, god, how you are doing that?"

Till dodged one of Richard's jerking knees with a smile as he hit the man's prostate again, dead-on. A few more thrusts had Till curious if he could manage to get Richard off once more before he finished himself. He briefly ignored Richard's aroused babbling and concentrated, reaching down to hold Richard's dick. It was slick with an exorbitant amount of precum, thanks to Till's accuracy inside him. He stroked slowly, acclimating Richard to the brand new feelings warring for domination within him. 

He began stroking in time with his thrusts, hitting Richard's prostate consistently. Richard squirmed and gasped, his breathing ragged and choppy. Till sped up both his thrusts and his hand, bracing his free arm down on the bed to stabilize himself. He saw Richard's eyes roll back again, and felt the tell-tale tightening in his ass and the swelling of his dick.

"Till, ah, please," Richard begged incoherently, thrashing against him with his nails digging painful little scratches into his biceps.

It was too much for Till. Richard's gasping, the tightness, feeling his cock suddenly start spurting into his hand, it all compounded into a tightness that pulled his entire body inward, and then released it with a rush.

Till threw his head back as stars exploded into his vision. He held onto Richard's legs for dear life, pressing himself deeply as his cock throbbed and ejaculated into his partner. He rode his orgasm with a series of growls, expletives, and finally a spent gasp. Richard's post-orgasmic shudders made Till snarl at the over-sensitivity of his softening cock still inside him, but he stubbornly held still. 

Richard was barely moving except for his heaving chest, and Till slumped forward, his shaking arms the only thing holding him above Richard's body. Finally, his softened length slipped free of Richard's body, spilling some of his seed with it. 

Till was far too spent to attempt anything further, and he knew Richard would need time to recover as well, judging by how the man seemed nearly to be asleep.

Till shuffled back slightly, then rolled Richard to his side and slid behind him, enveloping the smaller man in his bear-like grasp. Richard held one of Till's arms appreciatively, giving it an adoring kiss along the forearm, then interlacing his fingers in the man's hand. Till pressed his forehead into Richard's neck, nuzzling him. He laid with Richard, quietly, allowing them both to come down and settle.

"S'good?" Till finally asked thickly, sleep threatening to overtake him. What time was it, that he was so tired? He glanced at the clock on the side table and was suprised at the late hour.

Richard nodded and said, in an equally spent voice, "Very good."

Till's last conscious thought before the heaviness of sleep took him was wondering whether he should text Flake that he could return to the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....aaaand, scene! I hope you all had as much fun with this as I did (and hopefully then some ;)
> 
> All right, I need some feedback, lovelies!
> 
> Should I continue this work as is, and keep writing additional chapters, or should I create a new one in the same series that takes place directly after? I have a few more ideas that I'd love to tackle with it, but if you decide it's best left as is, I'll oblige!


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